Of Soccer and Logarithms
by SevLovesLily
Summary: Highschool AU: Many intertwining stories of love, friendship, drama, and... soccer. Among the normal experiences of highschool, of course. Will become novel-length, including several story arcs and pairings, all of which are listed in the 1st A/N
1. Getting There pt 1

**Oh God... I probably shouldn't even be writing this, since I have another ongoing fic that will have to be updated less regularly because of this, but the idea for this story just stuck and wouldn't go away. Partially inspired by Gakuen Hetalia and other highschool!Hetalia fics, this will almost indefinitely turn out to be novel-length. There will be several story arcs, nearly all of which are based on ships; a few of them are major (and you'll easily be able to guess which ones), some are side-stories, and some are minor compared to the others. And then some ships will be present, but not really delved into. **

**All of the ships involved are: GerIta, FrUK, Spamano, PruHun, AusHun, AusSwiss, (mostly)platonic!Grandpa Rome/Germania (Grandmania?), Giripan, RusBel, CanUkr, LietPol, AmeViet, ThaiTai, SuFin, DenNor, and HongIce.**

**Meanwhile, there is some _extremely_ minor genderbending—and when I say extremely minor, it really is. I only genderbent Iceland and Cyprus. And I usually hate genderbending of any kind, but I just wanted a couple more girls present. And as for the characters that weren't given official human names, I just looked up their fanon human name or names from their country. If you don't know who a country is, you can just ask.**

**Anyway, this is my first AU fic for anything, so it feels sort of weird to be writing this. I actually haven't written anything but headcanons until now. But I'm also able to add clever twists to both canon and actual history, so I like it.**

**Also, I'll be switching between POVs a lot, but it'll be in 3rd person omniscient, so you'll know what everyone in the immediate area is thinking most of the time. These first two chapters are sort of like a prologue, since it's introducing the characters and showing what happens before the first day. I split it into two both because I wanted to establish that it was a multichapter fic as soon as I could, and because I didn't want the compilation of introductions to be _terribly_ longer than the rest of the chapters. Some of the characters in the introductions you will see in nearly every ensuing chapter, some you will see occasionally, and one or two you might not see for a rather long time. **

**One last thing: The story rating may go up to M later for sexual situations. Underage sexual situations. And I know that a lot of people thing that's wrong, but this is a highschool story, and so I'm being realistic according to what happens in highschool. As a person in tenth grade myself, I know what goes on: I knew plenty of people in my Freshman year who had already lost their virginity. It happens.**

**Now, this is where I apologize for such a long A/N and tell you to (hopefully) enjoy the story! ^_^**

* * *

Feliciano scooped some of the pasta he had had for dinner the night before into a small Tupperware container, giving himself a liberal amount of it and humming some random tune while he did. Stretching a bit (and briefly hating that he was so short), he reached up to open the microwave that was attached to the upper cupboards and put the pasta in, pausing a moment before deciding that thirty seconds should be enough for reheating.

Just as the timer started going down, he smiled to himself and practically skipped over to the fridge to get a soda to put in his lunchbox.

"How can you be so fucking cheerful?" came an annoyed voice from the bar at the end of the kitchen next to the fridge. As Feliciano closed the fridge door, he saw the frowning face of his older brother, who was sitting at the bar and almost violently ripping apart an orange.

"Hm?" Feliciano wondered innocently, walking back over to the microwave and putting away the soda.

Lovino felt his eye twitch slightly, and he furrowed his brow further than it already was. "It's your first day of highschool—_how_ are you still managing to be so fucking _happy_?" Really, his little brother's cheerfulness was so _annoying_….

"Hey, Lovi—_language_."

Their grandfather had walked into the living room behind them just as the expletive had been said and the microwave beeped—and Feliciano hurried to take the pasta out, put the lid on the Tupperware, and put it away in his temperature-constant lunchbox before it could cool down a single degree.

"Morning, Grandpa!" he greeted with a wide grin as he turned around.

"Morning, Feli," Roma returned with the usual laugh in his voice, appearing to have gotten over his older grandson's verbal abuse pretty quickly. "So, what's Lovi on about _this_ morning?" He'd said that somewhat exasperatedly, since Lovino was always so grumpy and bitter about something.

Ignoring the insinuation, he bit into a slice of orange and said, "I was asking him how he wasn't a nervous wreck like he _should_ be on the morning of his first day of highschool. _I_ sure as hell wasn't like he is—"

"Well, that's because you're _never _cheerful," his grandfather cut in, smirking. "Maybe you shouldn't try to bring him down with you—try to be more like _him_." It sounded lighthearted, but it was a serious suggestion. And one that Lovino had heard too often and was _really_ tired of hearing.

Lovino really hated being told to be more like his younger brother. He'd never been given enough attention as a small child, he'd never been as likable, and he'd never been as cute—even though they practically looked identical. So what was the point in trying to be cheerful or have an at least somewhat appealing personality, anyway?

"You still didn't answer my question," he shot to Feliciano, who was closing his lunchbox (bag? box? whatever, it was some sort of cloth in a box-shape).

"Well, Lovino, I thought it would be obvious," he began, turning around again. His high-pitched voice was making the superior tone even worse; and Lovino resented being talked to as though he was the dumber brother. Which he sort of was—but that wasn't the point. "It's my first year with Ludwig again, you know? And I really don't care how big and scary the highschool is, because I'm just really excited to have classes with him after so long…."

Feliciano smiled fondly, thinking of his best friend, as he picked up his backpack off the floor and hoisted it onto the countertop so he could put his lunchbox in it. Sure, Ludwig had come back from his long stay in Germany about a month ago, during the summer, but school was different. He'd spent the last three years alone, without any protector from the larger students… and now he wouldn't have to.

"Oh, so it's the damn potato-bastard you're so happy about?" said Lovino, scowling at his brother's smile. "You've had him over enough for the past month; it's not like you haven't gotten used to him—"

"Come on, Lovino, cut it out," Roma intervened, putting one hand on the bar. "It's been three years since he's seen his best friend…."

"Yeah, well, maybe he could make some other friends, is all I'm saying…," he grumbled, stuffing another slice of orange into his mouth. "Or get a fucking girlfriend…."

"_Lovi_," said Roma sternly, but sighing afterward because he knew he really should have gotten used to this by now. And then he turned to his other grandson. "I'm sure Feli'll get a girlfriend pretty quick, though, he's so cute…. And now that he's going to highschool, there'll be so many more pretty girls to go for!"

As easy as he normally found it to smile at anything, Feliciano had to force himself to smile in fake agreement at his grandpa's grin. Really, though—he wasn't sure if he wanted a girlfriend. At the thought of having a romantic relationship, every part of him turned to think of Ludwig, and he wasn't completely sure why.

"_Oh_—and before I leave for the school," Roma said suddenly, "you two check this out—"

The boys hardly had time to raise their eyebrows before their grandpa grabbed the knees of his pants and pulled, ripping the bottom halves completely off. Roma then grinned and paused, allowing them time to react.

"What… the hell was that?" said Lovino, half-confused and half-annoyed.

"I got them last week!" he announced, feeling and looking rather proud of himself. "Now I don't have to change during the day—I can walk around normally when they're just pants, and then they're shorts when I'm being a coach. Nice, right?"

Unlike his brother, Feliciano was actually impressed. Well, he was pretty easily impressed by a lot of things….

"That's cool, Grandpa! But it's not like it'll be gross if you walk around in shorts, since your legs are pretty toned for a fifty-four year old…."

"Ah, don't remind me." Roma's smile only shrunk a little as he bent down to reattach the pant legs at the Velcro spots. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm still thirty. Now, I'm off… don't fight, be good, I'll see you two after school if not sometime during!"

With that goodbye, he slung his coach's bag over his shoulder and walked out of the front door, leaving Feliciano and Lovino alone again.

"Ugh… old weirdo," the older one muttered.

"Aw, he's really not that bad!" Feliciano half-whined.

"Are we talking about Grandpa or the potato-bastard right now?"

All Feliciano did at that was give a small "Hmph," as he really hated when his brother insulted his best friend. But after about ten minutes of silence, in which he got his own orange for breakfast (and already finished it), he supposed that Lovino was probably just jealous, since he didn't really have any friends himself… and then he felt sorry for him.

He couldn't think of anything to say to him, though, before Lovino said, "Alright, let's go out to wait for the bus."

And then he was too excited at the prospect of seeing Ludwig to care.

* * *

"Come on, Lud, stop being so serious—you'll see your precious little Feli soon enough, anyvays…."

Ludwig fretted with the collar of his shirt one more time before throwing his older brother a glare, at which he just grinned. And _Gott_, Gilbert looked almost insane when he grinned like that…. Well, he definitely _was_ insane—with at least some Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but the appearance of it was amplified by his being an albino.

But Ludwig was too busy being annoyed both at being called "Lud" and Gilbert's comment about Feliciano to dwell on that.

"You cannot just _tell_ me to stop being serious," he told his older brother, his voice deep and annoyed. "Zat vould be like… telling _you_ to get rid of zat ridiculous bird."

Raising his hands protectively in front of the chick on his shoulder and looking deeply insulted, Gilbert said, "_Gilbird_ is _not_ ridiculous! I've had him for seven years, and he's still alive—he's _immortal_!" The chick then gave a small peep, as though to confirm what he'd said.

_Exactly my point,_ thought Ludwig, sighing inwardly. Without looking at his brother, he walked over to the couch and opened his backpack for the third time that morning to make sure that he wasn't missing anything, and then said, "Eizzer vay, I don't see vhy _you're_ so confident. It's your first day at highschool, too—vell, American highschool, anyvay…."

"Ze answer to zat is obvious—because I am _awesome_!" Gilbert raised his arms dramatically and paused, his eyes closed, for a second or so, as though waiting for some sort of applause. All he got was another peep from Gilbird. Feeling that that was enough, he slid off of the kitchen counter, where he'd been sitting, and walked over to the living room couch, where Ludwig was standing and glaring. "Vhat vould _I_ have to be vorried about, eh? I finally get to reign supreme und wreak havoc vis Antonio and Francis again—and you have Feliciano, so you really shouldn't vorry eizzer."

Folding his arms (and feeling Gilbird tighten his talons on his shoulder at the movement), he raised one eyebrow challengingly.

The look on his face was one of exasperation, and Ludwig really didn't feel like arguing, but he pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "In case you've forgotten, zare are a lot of tsings _I've_ forgotten. I'm going to need Feliciano a lot to… to help me remember vhat I forgot vhile I vas sick. Und I haven't been to American school in tsree years, so of course zis is stressful."

But Gilbert looked unimpressed, which annoyed Ludwig further.

"Vhat, you don't trust Feli to help you? Und you don't sink having our _grandpa_ as ze principal vill help?" At Ludwig's stony expression, he was only finding it more hilarious. "Kesesesesese… you just really need to lighten up. Stop being so OCD. Oh, und have I got crumbs on my ass?"

Remembering that he'd been sitting on the counter, where food was generally, he turned around to let his brother see the bottom of his jeans. Ludwig gave him a quick glance and said "No," but he didn't comment on anything else Gilbert had said. Not out loud, anyway.

_Of course I trust him, but zat doesn't mean I can't be nervous about all ze people I must have forgotten. _Ludwig frowned, making sure not to show too much of his anxiety before absentmindedly straightening his belt again and walking into the kitchen to grab a bagel. _Und having him vith me all ze time vill take a while to get used to…._

In a good way, of course. Three years ago, at the end of fifth grade, he had been forced to leave his best friend and go with his family to Germany for some time because of family issues. Back then, he hadn't known how long he'd have to be away, but he'd promised Feliciano that he would come back. And while there, he'd even written to him several times—until he, his mother, and his father had gotten extremely sick. The illness had eventually killed his parents, and his mind had been greatly affected by it—ergo, he had lost a lot of memories. The one thing he had remembered above anything else, luckily, was Feliciano, and he'd missed him all throughout the sickness. Soon after he was all better, he, his grandfather, and his brother had all moved back. After three damn years… It had been much too long a time. It was still hard to believe that he was back with Feliciano again, especially considering how surreal it had seemed when Ludwig had shown up at his door about a month ago and enveloped him in a crushing hug….

And finally being with Feliciano again also felt a bit confusing, because there were a lot of feelings there that he didn't recognize. He couldn't remember whether or not he'd always felt those….

_Okay, zat's enough._ Ludwig shook away all those thoughts and just focused on not letting crumbs drop from the bagel he was eating.

"Are you sure zat's a good idea, Lud?" jeered Gilbert. "You might have to sweep ze floor und go brush your teeth again vhen you're done…."

Unfazed by the derisive comments about his obsessive-compulsive tendencies, Ludwig opened a nearby cupboard and pulled out a paper plate to eat over, and then threw his brother a _challenge accepted_ sort of look. Gilbert just sighed, and then reached in his pocket for a comb to fix his hair with. Ludwig almost snorted.

He wasn't going to tell his little brother, but Gilbert was rather eager to finally see Elizaveta again—almost more than he was than to see his two best friends. He hadn't kept in touch with her as much as he had with Antonio and Francis, and so he wasn't all too sure as to what she'd been up to… he wondered if it had been as much fun beating up Roderich without him for the past three years….

As Gilbert had warned, Ludwig did feel the need to brush his teeth a second time after the bagel; and he spent a lot of the time while waiting at the window next to the front door straightening the stacks of paper on the nearby computer desk. He was waiting for the bus to come—according to the school website, it was supposed to stop very close to their house, and he didn't feel the need to go out there until it was necessary. All the while, Gilbert was just sitting on the couch and flipping through television channels.

"I don't understand vhy you're riding vis your friends vhen ze bus vill get you to school faster…," said Ludwig at some point, narrowing his eyes. "Und it's not like you get more sleep zat vay, because you vake up just as early as I do."

Yeah, well, that was because he was _awesome_.

"Vunce again, _bruder_, you just don't get it, do you?" Gilbert turned around and rested his arms on the back of the couch, looking at him in a sort of superior way. "I'm a sophomore, und I have to _make und keep_ a reputation. It's _cooler_ to ride in a car vis your friends to school—especially if said car if open-roof. Vhich it is."

Ludwig might have commented sarcastically on that if he hadn't seen the bus heading down the street from out the window—at which he immediately left out the front door, not even saying goodbye to his brother.

There was only one other person at the bus stop; he was pretty sure Feliciano had told him his name was Roderich one of the times he'd come over during the summer (which had been every day that Ludwig wasn't over at _his_ house). However, he also saw, about four houses down, someone that looked his age hurrying out of his house—but also taking a little girl along with him and getting into his car.

_V-Vash…?_ Yes, Vash, he was pretty sure that was it…. That guy had always been mean to Feliciano, as he now remembered. But he was now a little confused as to why Vash was driving when the bus was less than a minute away from getting to their stop…. _Hm. Odd._

Within the minute, the sound of the tires came to a temporary stop and the bus doors opened, signaling for him to begin his first year of highschool.

* * *

Sighing, Vash carefully pulled the loop of ribbon tight in order to finish the bow. He kneeled slightly to look at it from eye-level to determine that it was straight. When he saw that it was, he flattened a little bit of his younger sister's hair that was sticking out.

"Thanks, big brother!" said Lilly happily, turning her head slightly to look at her hair ribbon in the mirror. She was oblivious to the frown on her brother's face.

"You're welcome," he sighed again. "But I still think you really shouldn't have cut your hair short over the summer…. You're going to look so different to so many people, you know."

But Lilly just smiled up at him through her bedroom mirror. "I don't care what anyone else thinks of my haircut, I'm just happy to be like you."

_God_—how could he resist just a slight smile when she said things like that…. Honestly, Vash was glad to know she looked up to him that much, especially because of how much more of a role he took in her life than their parents, but he wished she wouldn't try to be so selfless. That was _his_ job.

At least he had been able to convince her not to start dressing like him.

"I—um, thanks. Now,"—He checked his watch, glad to see they were on time—"my bus comes in about five minutes. So"—He bent down to kiss her on the forehead—"I'll see you after school, okay?"

"Okay." Lilly smiled up at him again and watched him leave her room.

Once Vash had grabbed his backpack from his room and headed toward the front door, though, he realized something odd—there was no one in the living room. Were… were his parents still asleep?

A dash down the hallway and to the slightly open door of their bedroom told him that they were. _Dammit, you can't even be awake to drive your own daughter to school?_ Vash had to stop himself from kicking at their door and telling them to wake their asses up (because he knew how well _that_ would turn out later), and then he had to stop himself from turning around the blame on _himself _for not having realized they weren't asleep earlier.

So he mentally swore a couple more times and then ran back into a surprised Lilly's room.

"Vash, what—?"

"Mom and Dad are both asleep, so I need to drive you to school. Do you have all your things ready?"

She couldn't honestly say that she was surprised her parents weren't ready this morning, but she did find it frustrating. And she was still getting over the surprise of Vash announcing he would take her.

"Yes—"

"Then come on, let's go. I need to make sure I'm not late to my own school, too."

Lilly nodded and hurried to sling her backpack onto her back before following her brother out of her room, waiting for him to find their father's car keys, and then letting him grab her hand and pull her out the front door.

Vash managed to keep a straight face in spite of his frustration: No, he wasn't annoyed at having to help his little sister, whom he cared about more than anything—he was just still pissed at his parents. And he couldn't even legally drive yet, not for a few more months… but he'd have to risk both the police and whatever his parents decided to do to him if only to get Lilly to school.

The amount of cops in this town wasn't that big, anyway, and he was a pretty good driver, so he didn't think he'd have a problem.

As he and his sister got in the car, he noticed that his own bus was already coming, but he pretended not to and instead focused on getting the car out of the driveway.

_At_ _least I won't have to be in confined space with Roderich this morning,_ he thought.

* * *

A sharp tapping noise pushed him toward consciousness, and for one brief second, Arthur's heart leapt, for he thought it might have been an owl at his window (coming rather late, he might say). But then his vision became clearer, and he saw something else outside his window. Something very _French_, and definitely not what he'd ever wanted to wake up to.

Scowling and groaning, he sat up halfway and crawled over to unlock and slide open the window that was directly to the left of the head of his bed. On the other side was an urgent-but-amused-looking Francis, who appeared not to have shaven in the past week (definitely on purpose).

"The hell are you here for, Frog?" grumbled Arthur, rubbing his head and still trying to wake up all the way.

Francis raised both of his eyebrows, staring at him and using his right arm to support himself as he leaned forward. "Um, school? Ze first day of it?"

It took a second or so for Arthur to understand what the other boy was getting at, at which he shouted "Bloody SHIT!" and jumped up so quickly that he might have busted his head open if he had been leaning out the window at all. "Did—did my brothers—?" He immediately grabbed at his bedside table for his alarm clock—which was off. And then for his phone, which would have had an alarm… which was also off.

"God dammit, those wankers did this last year too!" he yelled, imagining Peter, Oliver, and Seamus all giggling and turning his alarms off; he wanted to throw his phone on the ground in his frustration.

Unable to help but find Arthur's panic amusing, but at the same time feeling a bit of pity for him, Francis grimaced and leaned his head in further. "I know, because you ranted to me about zem for about a week afterwards. Even zough we were in different schools and I didn't live near you. Anyway, I 'ad a feeling zat might 'appen again, so I texted you, but got no answer. So… need a ride, zen?"

Narrowing his eyes at Francis (however grateful he knew he should have been and really _was_) to give him a _What do you think?_ expression, he said, "Of-bloody-_course_, idiot—"

"Oh, and afterwards, do you want Antonio to drive you to school?" said Francis, smirking suggestively.

Arthur was confused for a second, but then he grabbed his pillow and threw it at Francis's face. He laughed and threw it back.

"'Urry up and get dressed, zough—Antonio and Gilbert are waiting, and it's not too long before school starts."

And the Brit did just that, though Francis could have sworn he heard him mutter "Don't tell me what to do, you bloody Frog…," which only made him keep smirking. Arthur was dashing across his room and pulling out the first pair of underpants, trousers, and shirt that he could find with no preference, and swearing under his breath every couple seconds or so—and Francis was still leaning on his bedroom window, casually watching everything.

As he had been faced away from the window most of the time, Arthur was already out of his underwear (which was the only thing he slept in) and into a new pair when he remembered that Francis was _still there_—and turned around to see his stupid, smirking face.

"Don't _watch_, pervert!" Arthur was fully aware that Francis had probably just seen him naked about ten seconds ago—and not that nothing similar had ever happened before, considering how much of a pervert the Frog could be, but he was going to find every excuse he could to be angry about it.

It angered him even further that Francis didn't argue (not that he _wanted_ him to argue, because he definitely _didn't_), but merely raised an eyebrow, pursed his lips, and said, "Fine. It's not as zough you 'ave much to look at, anyway."

He was just about to continue the argument with a "And what's _that _supposed to mean?", but he then realized that he ought not to waste time and instead finished pulling his trousers on. The bickering could be saved for once he was in the car.

Francis was still repeatedly glancing so much that it could be _called_ watching, anyway.

In another minute or so, Arthur was dressed and had his (luckily already prepared) backpack; and he didn't bother trying to fix his hair before hopping up on his bed, opening his window a bit wider, and grabbing Francis's hand so he could help him out of the window.

But then his eyes widened and he jerked his hand away, saying, "Hold on—just one more thing—" And he came back two seconds later with his copy of _Half-Blood Prince_ in one hand. Francis took his hand again and helped him out, sniggering.

"Onhonhon, you're rereading 'Arry Potter _again_?"

Arthur had jerked his hand out of Francis's grip when he didn't automatically let go, and he was now almost sprinting to the street in front of his house with the French jerk. Furrowing his extremely bushy eyebrows in a scowl, he unwittingly went a little red in the face. "I—no, not the whole _series_—just this one. It's my favorite." A small groan of discomfort escaped his throat, showing his slight embarrassment and annoyance.

"Well, it's too bad your letter to 'Ogwarts 'asn't come, because zen I would be rid of you," said Francis mockingly as they reached the open-roof car, where his two other friends were waiting. It made Arthur even angrier.

Really, it made him angrier than _anything_ when Francis—or anyone else—mocked Harry Potter. Or anything else that was British, for that matter.

"You two took your sveet-ass time!" Gilbert said obnoxiously, turning around in his passenger's seat to give Francis an impatient look. "Hurry up und get in ze car, ve haven't got all morning."

Arthur wasn't surprised to see that the German was back and a part of their friend group again after three years, but he _was_ surprised to see that he still had that stupid little chick with him. Was it actually still alive…?—he really wanted to reach out and poke it just to see… but he didn't. And he was pretty miffed that Gilbert had to be back at all…. The Bad Touch Trio—as they'd called themselves since elementary school—had been just as fine (and less annoying) without him.

"You know, Gilbert," Antonio started, somewhat of a laugh in his voice, "you seem pretty anxious to get to school this morning. Did you hit your head on something while you were in Germany, or have I just forgotten how much you love school?"

Not knowing whether or not the Spaniard was serious, he hesitated slightly. "I—vell, Gilbird's hungry, und I didn't give him breakfast zis morning, so ve need to get to school und get him some cornflakes from a machine or sometsing."

It didn't sound believable, not even to the _awesome_ Gilbert, but no one said anything. Not even Arthur, who had put on his seatbelt and was getting pretty annoyed so far.

And then Antonio put the car in drive again, at the same time turning on the radio to some Spanish station.

"Oh 'ell no, Antonio," groaned Francis, "turn on sometsing else, _please_."

"_Oh mein Gott_—ve told you earlier, no!" Gilbert said in about the same tone, holding his forehead in one hand as though facepalming himself for an extended period of time. "Even Gilbird hates it!"

"Ugh, fine, but you guys are tasteless when it comes to music." Then Antonio changed it to Mumford and Sons, which the rest of the car was okay with.

"You know," said Francis suddenly, taking the chance once his friends were finished arguing to turn to Arthur, "you 'aven't tsanked me yet." The Brit scowled at him, and he smirked. "And you would 'ave been screwed if not for me."

"I've refrained from hitting you yet today, so that should be enough," Arthur growled.

"Well, in _France_, a proper tsank-you is to kiss ze ozzer's 'and. Go a'ead, try and be polite for once." And he held out his left hand, just so he could see the look on Arthur's face.

He narrowed his eyes and scrunched his nose down at the hand in front of him, and then reached up to grab it—and for a second Francis thought he was actually going to do it, but then Arthur took his fingers and bent them back hard. _Really_ hard.

"Ow!" Pulling his hand back, he threw a scowl to the boy next to him. "_Mon dieu_, was zat really necessary?" Without giving him time to answer, though, Francis reached his hand over extremely quickly and briefly to grab the book on Arthur's lap.

"_Hey_—you give that back this instant, you foppish twit!"

"Onhonhon, zat's really ze best you 'ave to insult me wis, Rosbif?" laughed Francis, holding the copy of _Half-Blood Prince_ high out of Arthur's reach. He was really enjoying the panicked look on the other's face….

"You know very well that I woke up a few minutes ago and that I could insult you better otherwise, Frog—just _give—it—back_!"

Then Arthur punched him in the stomach (though definitely not as hard as he could have), and Francis let out a groan of pain before lowering his arm and dropping the book.

"'Ey, it's not _my_ fault your brozzers 'ate you enough to turn off all your alarms…."

"What, and you're saying it's _mine_?"

"Zey certainly don't 'ate you for no reason at all—and it's probably for ze same reason everybody else does."

Okay, _that _was too far: Everyone in the car knew it (judging by the very slight gasps of both Antonio and Gilbert—and a peep from Gilbird), even Francis, who honestly felt sorry afterwards. But it didn't matter in the next second because Arthur robbed him of the chance to utter anything similar to an apology by resuming the argument about nothing in particular, and at a higher volume.

Meanwhile, Antonio was gradually turning up the noise level of the radio in order to drown the two in the backseat out, and Gilbert was giving them glares through the rear-view mirror that neither of them managed to catch during their bickering. But they kept getting louder and more violent—to the point that even the radio combined with the surrounding traffic of other upperclassmen driving to school couldn't drown them out. And people in surrounding cars were starting to stare… especially when the arguing and insults progressed to hitting.

_Gott… Zis is _so_ not awesome,_ thought Gilbert, rubbing his hand harshly down his face, as though trying to rub off the annoyed feeling. The morning of his first day at American highschool, and he was already having to deal with Francis's stupid little British friend…. Looking over to the driver's seat, he saw that Antonio didn't seem too annoyed—well, yeah, but that was _Antonio_. The guy was always pretty cheerful.

And then, with an inward groan, Gilbert scooted to the left as far as he could so that he could turn around and see them directly: Francis had a hold of Arthur's shoulders, and it seemed that he was just about to pin him to the seat of the car. He didn't know whether to push their faces together or to swipe a hand in between them.

But he didn't think he'd have even been able to grab their heads very easily from the spot he was in, so he went with the latter.

And Arthur and Francis were very surprised to be interrupted in the middle of their (now mostly physical) fight by the German's hand between them—and having gone so fast that it might have cut one of their noses off. Without letting go of each other, they both turned to him.

"Here's an idea—how about you two save it for vunce ve're _inside_ ze school?" snapped Gilbert, his voice getting even more obnoxious than usual near the end. "Dammit, Francis, vhy did you insist so much on picking him up?"

With that, he turned back around in his seat triumphantly. Silence ensued for the next couple of seconds or so, in which the two boys in the back reluctantly released their grip on each other and, grumbling, eased back into normal seating positions.

Both Francis and Arthur at least subconsciously knew the answer to that question, but neither of them planned on saying it: Because the two of them had been best-frenemies almost as long as the Bad Touch Trio had existed, and that was one of those friendly things that Francis did. In spite of their differences, they talked a lot and knew many personal things about each other—and they hated each other, but only _they_ were allowed to hate each other.

Likewise, only _Francis_ was allowed to humiliate Arthur; he wasn't going to let Peter and Oliver and Seamus do it instead.

But at the moment, both of them were thinking along the lines of _Yeah, why the hell _did_ he/I…?_

"Heh, you know—honestly, I don't mind," laughed Antonio, who finally felt that it was his place to talk. "It's actually pretty cute."

Through the rear-view mirror, they could see that the Spaniard was smiling… smiling like he knew something they didn't.


	2. Getting There pt 2

Toris had just finished zipping up his pants when he heard a familiar, yet slightly startling noise from behind—it only took him half a second to recover from the shock and realize who it was. He picked up a brush and started running it through his shoulder-length hair while he turned and walked to the glass door, opened it, and stepped out onto the small balcony.

Standing on the balcony directly across from him in the neighboring house was Feliks, who was in a purposely show-offy stance, holding the railing with one hand and a slingshot (which he must have used to shoot a pebble at Toris's window) in the other.

"Hey, Toris, how do I look?"

He almost wanted to laugh at the seriousness of such a question coming out of a boy's mouth, but then he wanted to sigh because of how feminine his best friend could be, and how much he was used to this sort of thing. Though he was going to give a generic answer either way, Toris took a second to look Feliks over (and not just to be convincing): Altogether, it wasn't particularly _girly_; but the skinny jeans, pink button-up shirt that remained unbuttoned over a band t-shirt, and the two red hair pins would have made anyone at least guess _metrosexual_.

"You look great," he told him with an only somewhat forced smile—since it wasn't a lie.

Toris had nearly hoped for Feliks to return the compliment, to say something along the lines of "Thanks—you, like, look good yourself!" afterwards, but—

"Thanks! Ah, well, I totally knew I looked fabulous. But it's good to have you to like, make sure."

—No such luck. Not that he had really expected it… that's just how Feliks was. It'd have been nice, though, to be the one _receiving_ compliments more often.

Quickly getting over the slight frustration, Toris leaned on the railing and said, "Hey, my mom's making eggs; d'you want to eat breakfast over here?" He knew how his friend rarely ate anything that could be considered healthy, and—however much he might have been acting like a parent—he thought Feliks should have a normal breakfast on the first day of highschool... If only to make sure he wasn't extremely hyper all throughout it.

"Is there bacon?" he asked eagerly, tearing his attention away from down at his clothes.

"Yeah."

"Then totally!"

Feliks immediately stepped cheerfully back into his bedroom and made to pick up his (wicked hipster pink) backpack, and Toris started walking off the balcony as well, saying, "Alright, I'll meet you downstairs—"

"But, like, what's the point in that?" said Feliks, unwittingly using his superior tone. His friend stopped and looked confused as he turned and headed straight back for the balcony. "It's totally easier just to do this—"

Without thinking about possible consequences (or anything in particular, as he usually didn't _think_ at all and just went with his random impulses), he stepped up onto the railing of his balcony, leaned forward to grab hold of the tree branch that was hanging in the space between their houses, and proceeded to swing over.

And then Toris panicked, practically sprinting forward—and he made it to the edge of his balcony just us Feliks's feet touched the railing.

Really, it had only been a gap of like, two feet, and there was a branch there that made it easy to have support, so Feliks didn't know what his friend was so worried about… but he couldn't say he was annoyed when Toris hurriedly grabbed him around the waist and pulled him forward before he had the chance to step off by himself.

He even giggled a bit as he was being let down by Toris's slackening grip—and he wasn't completely let go until a second later, when his friend pulled his face away from the fabric of Feliks's shirt and stepped back.

Now relieved of his previous panic, Toris couldn't help but find himself angry. But his anger was still expressed mostly as panic: "D-dammit, Feliks, why—_why_ would you even do that? That was dangerous—you nearly fell!"

As impulsive as his friend could be, Toris never failed to be shocked when he decided to do something like _that_. Call him paranoid, but they were on the second story, dammit, and that was just a reckless move for no reason at all….

"Ugh, you're right…." Feliks frowned, and Toris raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised that the other boy actually appeared to be at least concerned in retrospect for once—"My hair got, like, messed up and junk."

…And there went Toris's pleasant surprise. He stood back for a second, frowning and thinking _Seriously?_ as he watched his friend fret over a slightly frizzy area of his hair. However, thanks to the outrageously strong patience he had gotten from who knows where, he refrained from folding his arms or frowning for more than a brief second. Then, he stepped forward and ran his fingers through the displaced locks of hair Feliks was trying to fix, putting back to normal what he could.

"Here, it's fine."

"Oh—hm. Like, thanks," Feliks said, smiling with the glossy sort of look in his eyes that was almost always there. Especially when he smiled.

Smiling back in relief that he had actually gotten some outward appreciation from his best friend—especially this early, Toris suddenly had his appetite back (which tended to go away when Feliks's antics depressed him). He grabbed the other boy's upper arm before he could say anything else and pulled him out of the balcony, into his bedroom, and then down the stairs from his bedroom door.

"Come on, breakfast."

* * *

"Ludwig!"

He had expected nothing less than an enthusiastic greeting from his Italian friend on the bus, but he hadn't quite expected him to promptly slide into the seat, sit right down on his lap, and then extend his legs outward onto the rest of the seat. It took him until the bus started up again to react.

"Feliciano…," said Ludwig, frowning, "vhy are you sitting on me?"

But the other boy was too busy focusing on how happy he was that he was on his way to highschool with his (relatively) newly-returned best friend to answer immediately, or even register that a question had been asked. He didn't need it to be repeated a second later, though.

"Eh?—oh, well, plenty of reasons," he replied in his usual sing-song and just-a-bit-too-loud voice. "Because I haven't seen you in three years since a month ago, because I like to sit long ways—you know, so my legs have more room, and… because you're comfy to sit on," he admitted with a slight giggle.

"Hm." Well, Ludwig supposed that first one was a good reason. As much as he disliked being touched (mostly just in public), he… supposed he was willing to let his friend sit in his lap, if he really needed it. But… had Feliciano always been this touchy-feely? He couldn't quite remember. Or perhaps _he_ had just not always been this strict about personal space, perhaps the sickness had changed him in that way….

"Fine," he muttered, suppressing the low growl in his throat when Feliciano disposed of his hopeful face and threw his arms up in celebration—or triumph, whichever. He also tried to relax his shoulders and back, which had stiffened greatly at his being sat upon, but that failed. The discomfort and awkwardness (for him, at least) didn't seem like it was going to go away.

And then, with a soft "Ve~", Feliciano was leaning back into the window and to the side, and thus his head was almost directly on Ludwig's shoulder. It didn't feel odd at all for the smaller of the boys, as personal space was nearly nonexistent to him—thanks to him being raised by his full-blooded Italian grandfather.

Feeling his chest go uncomfortably warmer, Ludwig tried to distract himself for a few seconds by watching the houses pass them by outside what he could still see of the window.

"Are you nervous about highschool, Ludwig?" Feliciano asked suddenly and shamelessly, seemingly out of nowhere. But really, he'd asked because he could feel his friend's heart rate speed up and his muscles get tenser.

"I—vell—who vouldn't be?" he said, trying not to sputter—and also trying to get used to having Feliciano sit on his lap and some of the surrounding students look at them oddly. "…Are you?"

"Well, I probably _would_ be if you weren't here this year."

There he went again, being too blunt about his feelings in public… not that Ludwig didn't share them at all, or wasn't glad for them. He then shifted uncomfortably, though—or at least he tried to, because he really didn't have the room to do so.

"I don't see how I vould be much of a help… I don't even remember most of ze people on zis bus…. Should I? If I hadn't gotten sick, I mean."

"Um…" Feliciano looked around almost frantically at the nearby students, his smile dropping a little at the mention of Ludwig's sickness from the time he'd been Germany. "Y-yes… but—don't worry, I'll explain what I can while we ride to school, okay? And I'll make sure to help you remember everything else, like I promised—"

"I—yes, zat vould be good. Tsank you." he said quickly, not wanting Feliciano to mention his promise loud enough that the rest of the bus could hear it.

The boy sitting on his lap grinned, suddenly feeling completely cheerful again (which Ludwig _definitely_ remembered from years ago, as the perpetual happiness had always been a defining trait of his best friend), and he began pointing out several people to name them and explain what he should know about them. Ludwig wasn't sure whether or not he was becoming more comfortable with having Feliciano sitting on his lap during the next six minutes or so, but his attention was drawn away from the limit in his range of motion and the fact that his hands were technically in Feliciano's lap. So he was fine.

At each of the stops, his friend arched his neck up to see who was coming onto the bus and mentioned anything he might have known about them. And at the third one—

"Huh… I don't think I've ever even seen her before, or him, or—oh my _God_…."

"Vhat?"

"That guy is freaking _scary_… just look at him! Is he a senior—?—oh no, _looking away now_…."

Feliciano, now actually shaking somewhat, shrank back down and hid his face in Ludwig's shoulder as the guy he had been referring to walked past their seat, followed by a girl who was wearing a bow and another one with… _really_ large breasts. Having caught a second or so's glimpse of him, Ludwig supposed the guy did look pretty intimidating… and tall. And not innocent enough for that smile to look right on his face.

But he wasn't honestly _scared_, and he still told Feliciano to stop being a baby, since the scary-looking guy was gone. Luckily, his friend listened and pulled his face out of his friend's shoulder.

Honestly, Ludwig was feeling better once the bus was nearing the main street that was near the school, now that he knew more. He just hoped that he wouldn't forget again. There was mostly silence on his part as he just listened to Feliciano talk—and he refrained from looking down at his face, because when he did, there was an odd feeling in his stomach… as though he was going to vomit, or something.

And then the bus hit a curb—or a speed bump, or a rabbit, or something—and bounced up a tiny bit; and Ludwig wasn't quite strong enough to stop the forces of momentum and keep from bouncing slightly up as well. Which made Feliciano bounce while sitting in his lap.

_Verdammt—not good, not good_—Without warning, Ludwig grabbed the sides of his friend's waist and moved him so that he was sitting next to him and not on his lap. Feliciano seemed surprised at the sudden, forced change in seating and looked up at him almost sadly.

"Ve… what's the matter, Ludwig?"

"It vas getting uncomfortable," he said quickly, keeping his eyes anywhere but Feliciano's face. "Und… ve're almost at school, anyvay."

"Oh, okay."

* * *

Kiku walked into his living room to find his younger brother sitting on the edge of the couch and flipping through a rather suspiciously familiar journal, and he was greeted with a "Are you trying to write a manga or something, Kiku? Hah, you're doing it wrong…."

His mind put it together at once—and he wasn't quite sure whether he was angry or not (considering how difficult it usually was for him to get angry), but he was irritated enough to march over there and snatch the journal out of his brother's hands.

"I am most certainly _not _doing it wrong, Im Yong!" he said, quickly looking through it to make sure nothing had been changed.

Im Yong put both hands behind his head with the air of superiority that he usually did. "Yeah, well, I could've drawn the characters better…. _Not _saying I'm going to waste my expertise on you, though."

Something then rose inside of Kiku… was that anger? Ah, but it only puffed for a second before disappearing. Maybe it was just his stomach growling.

"What else did you take?" he asked, much too used to this sort of thing happening.

"Nothing." Im showed his hands innocently and laughed.

"Good. And stop going into my room."

Not wanting to deal with his horribly annoying little brother any longer, Kiku hurried to return to his bedroom, slide the journal into his backpack, and sling it over his shoulder. He supposed he could just start walking to school _now_ and not eat until lunch…. Yeah, getting away from Im Yong was worth it.

As he huffed and started back out into the main part of his house, though, his little brother (now lying on the _top_ of the couch, his head bent back to view him upside-down) called out, "I've got an idea—why don't we switch places? Ha, anyone would think I was your older brother, anyway, if I was just walking beside you…."

At that, he was once again irritated if not actually angry, but he refrained from cringing or frowning. And he continued walking toward the door, ignoring the emptiness in his stomach.

"You may be nearly as tall as me," Kiku muttered under his breath, "but you're still infinitesimally less mature."

Just before he closed the front door behind him, he heard a loud and obnoxious "Ha, who needs _maturity_ when you're a star like me?"

* * *

"So… are you nervous for the first day of American highschool?"

Natalya stared up at Ivan through the bathroom mirror, continuously brushing through a small knot in her hair. She briefly thought of how attractive he looked while brushing his hair, and he almost cringed under her gaze.

"I don't know… vood it be different if ve vere still in Russia?" she asked, sounding, for the moment, innocent.

"Vell…" Ivan was honestly very glad for something normal to talk about with Natalya, if only to brighten the mood… or, his mood, at least. Brushing his hair was somewhat of a distraction, but silence while he was in a small space with her was unsettling. And dangerous. "It vill probably be better, actually, since it's varmer down here. And ve actually haff a home other than the orphanage now, and I don't think abuse is tolerated in America. The only thing is that everyvun else vill speak English better than ve do, and ve'll probably be pretty behind in education…."

Though it had been mostly to be more comfortable in the room with his obsessive adoptive-sister, he really was speaking his true thoughts. Even for someone like him, a new school in an entirely different country was slightly overwhelming.

"Don't vorry, Ivan," she assured him, having finally gotten rid of that knot. "You'll be biggest and strongest vun there, I am sure. You could easily smash anyvun into a vall if you vanted to."

That hadn't exactly been his worry, but he couldn't help but be glad for the compliment. And a little creeped out at the brief, twisted smile (as though she had no idea how to do so properly) she gave him.

"Vell… ve also don't know anyvun but each other," continued Ivan, running a brush through his bangs and trying to get them the way he liked them. "Although you're so pretty I'm sure all the boys vill be hanging all over you immediately." It was only a half-lie; yes, he honestly thought that (details of insanity aside) Natalya was very pretty, but any boy would automatically run away directly after actually talking to her.

At the compliment from him, Natalya felt her heart swell up—but the annoyance she felt at what came after that was enough to balance it out. Turning on the hair-straightener, she frowned at him through the mirror. "I don't _vant_ guys to be all over me, and ve don't _need _anyvun but each other, Ivan…. I'll be your best friend and stay by your side forever, and you'll be mine and stop running avay so I _can_ stay forever."

It was almost the bluntness and seriousness with which she said that more than the actual notion that was the most disturbing part of that. Yeah, Ivan found it sweet of her… but he was also a little creeped out. He wasn't quite so sure he liked the idea of _forever_ with her.

But somehow, he managed to keep it down to only one nervous twitch and stayed calm while he brushed his teeth and Natalya straightened her hair.

"Ivan, help me vith my bow," she said after a few minutes. Natalya handed him the white ribbon she had been tying in her hair since she was about five, and she waited for him to step behind her so he could do it.

Really, he could have had his chance to escape a couple minutes ago, but he knew it would have been useless—since Natalya would have grabbed hold of his arm with the hot part of the straightener or something. And even though it was easier for her to tie the bow herself now, it was something he'd always done for her, ever since they'd started sticking together in the orphanage. Even now, he liked to do it, for it was a full minute of his day in which she seemed completely (and deceitfully) innocent and actually _like_ a little sister.

He smiled at her when he finished pulling the two loops tight (more genuinely than he'd already been doing) and then started to step back. Natalya didn't quite smile back, but she was happy on the inside. Ah, Ivan was always so nice to her, because he must have loved her so much… he deserved a good 'thank-you'….

So she turned around and raised herself up as far as she could go on her tiptoes, throwing her arms around her adoptive-brother's neck… to his dismay.

Ivan knew exactly what she was trying to do, and he let out a sound of discomfort as he half-heartedly (he didn't want to be harsh with her) tried to resist her arms pulling his head down and herself upwards. But pulling his neck up was useless, because that would only pull her up with it—and she was stronger than she looked, so it was pretty difficult anyway. Instead, he just screwed up his face almost in pleading and turned his head away (hopefully) so that she'd only manage to get her lips to his cheek.

_Come on, Natalya, I love you like a _sister_, nothing else, just stop, please…._

Though somehow oblivious to Ivan's lack of enthusiasm (if that's what you wanted to call it), she grabbed the hanging ends of his scarf and pulled, making it tighten around his neck until she heard the slight gagging (and panicking) noise in his throat. She would have kept pulling, but she didn't need to, because Ivan then almost involuntarily turned his head back and allowed her to kiss him. She felt the unwillingness and annoyed curl of his lips for those few seconds, but she was only vaguely aware of them.

Making a groan of half-frustration, half-fear, Ivan took that moment to leave the bathroom and get the _hell_ back to his bedroom. However, she followed him there, and he was avoiding her eye, desperately wishing that Mr. Winter, the man who had adopted them (they still weren't comfortable with calling him _Dad_, and they had kept their own last names anyway—at Natalya's insistence), was still at home so that he could stop this from happening.

But then Natalya muttered a soft "Hold on" at the threshold of his bedroom and hurried away assumedly to her own room, for which he was extremely grateful. Ivan decided to get his backpack ready and go to the living room, just so he'd have a few extra seconds away from her.

A minute or so later, he heard Natalya's voice yell "Ha!—found it!", and he was curious (but at the same time wary) as to what she was talking about. He was greeted with the frightening, yet sort of refreshing sight of her actually smiling more properly than usual as she came into the living room, holding something small and shiny in her hand.

"Vinter took my pocketknife avay again, but I found it," she announced proudly, holding up the small tool before sliding it into her pocket: There was no way she was going to school—or anywhere else—without it. Ivan couldn't decide whether he wanted her to have it as a safety precaution or was afraid of her having it on hand.

"Also," she went on, the smile quickly getting more twisted without her realizing it, "I found your pipe, Ivan!" And she held up the relatively small, metal pipe (which seemed to have been cleaned of the bloodstains from the last time it had been used), then walked toward him and slipped it into one of the belt loops on his jeans. "There, in case anyvun is stupid enough to pick on you."

His eyes lit up slightly at the sight of the pipe, which he had gotten taken away from him shortly after the plane ride to America earlier that summer. And he was truly grateful to have it back—it had been his signature mode of defense (which was often offense though he wasn't aware of it) all throughout his life in the orphanage. Ivan noticed that it was in no way hidden from view by anything he was wearing, but he honestly didn't think it would matter. He wouldn't _let_ anyone else take it away.

"Mm… _spasiba_, Natalya," Ivan said cheerfully—just as Yekaterina came out of the hallway, wearing a sort of pout on her face.

"Vot haff you been doing all this time, Yekaterina?" he asked curiously once he saw her, for this had been the first time she had shown any sign of existing since the shower she took earlier. Natalya froze for a second but didn't turn back to look at her adoptive-sister, and scowled instead.

"I vos spending a long time just trying to button up the top two buttons of this stupid shirt," she sighed, "but I gave up about ten minutes ago. Hmph." Yekaterina frowned down at her chest, frustrated that she had wasted so long with those stupid buttons that she could have used to prepare her backpack so that it wasn't last-minute—which she'd been doing the past ten minutes.

Ivan was just about to comment that Winter needed to buy her new shirts, but his older sister suddenly said, "_Oh_—Ivan, your scarf is lopsided, I'll straighten it for you."

As she smiled and started toward him, he noticed a vein pulse in Natalya's forehead of what only could have been extreme jealousy and annoyance, and her hand seemed to be inching toward her pocket—

At which Ivan grabbed her wrist, scared for what she might do to Yekaterina, and said, "Ah—no, it's fine, I can do it myself, thanks." He proceeded to loosen it where it had been tightened and fixed it, and Natalya calmed down considerably but was still glaring at the other girl.

Which she was _still_ doing about five minutes later, along with clinging to Ivan's arm, when they were walking out to the bus stop.

* * *

Both Alfred and Matthew were very suddenly bumping into a near-spitting image of themselves, though the former was only vaguely aware that he had even hit anything for a second.

"Oh—sorry, didn't see ya there, Mattie!" Alfred laughed.

His twin wanted very much to say "Don't call me 'Mattie,' you know I hate it," or "How could you not notice your own twin, dammit?"… but he didn't. Truth be told, he was somewhat afraid of his brother (if only for the fact that he was almost inhumanly strong and could easily trap him in a headlock in a second)—and he really didn't feel like going through an argument this morning.

Though he'd just come from the hallway bathroom, Alfred didn't look like he'd been doing anything—and Matthew hadn't heard any flushing or blow-drying noises, either. So he figured he must have been flexing in front of the mirror or something.

Sighing, Matthew just moved past him and into the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he picked up a brush to run through his hair; he had already brushed it through once, but his semi-long haircut required him to do it more than once if he didn't want it tangled throughout the day.

There was one really long clump of strands, though, that refused to merge with the rest of his hair, and it always frustrated the hell out of Matthew. It just _stuck out_ and curled, no matter how many times he brushed it down…. He stopped trying after the fourth time. That stubborn piece of hair had a mind of its own.

Once he'd officially given up, he made his way out to the kitchen, where his mother was making eggs at the stovetop and Alfred was slathering a liberal amount of Nutella all over a piece of toast.

_Oh God…_ It sometimes baffled Matthew how his brother could eat so much and yet not be fat as hell.

"Are you going to have some toast with that Nutella?" he sighed sarcastically, walking in and sitting down at the breakfast table.

Confused a bit, Alfred turned halfway around and said, "Well, _duh_—toast is what I'm _putting_ it on, Matt." He held up the thickly-coated toast to show him. Then he shook his head like he was the superior one and went back to the Nutella.

Not even bothering to say "God, that just flew right over your head, didn't it?", Matthew sighed again and mentally face-palmed. Even more so as Alfred went on, "Really, you should pay more attention, lil' bro."

"Come on, I am only _five_ minutes younger than you!" he retorted for the umpteenth time, really hating when Alfred called him that. Almost more than _Mattie_.

"Calm down, boys…," their mom sighed, who had so far been pretty patient (and giggling to herself at one of her son's denseness). She turned off the stove and took the pan of scrambled eggs off the heat, then walked over to the table to scrape some of them onto the empty plate in front of Matthew. Just as she finished dumping the rest onto the other plate, Alfred brought his toast (which looked more like two cakes) over to the table.

"So, what electives are you two taking this year, again?" their mom asked casually.

"French and Psychology," said Matthew as he salted his eggs—the only reason he'd been able to answer first, though, was that Alfred was busy dumping his eggs onto a slice of toast and then putting the other one on top to make an egg-Nutella sandwich.

"Ugh, those are sissy subjects," Alfred said, ignoring the looks of disgust on his twin's and mother's faces. "You should've chosen Business and Woodshop, like me—those'll help way more in the _real_ world, you know…." He grinned and stood up to go get a large kitchen knife from a drawer, then sat back down to cut his sandwich in half. "But hey, maybe you'll get lucky, and some people will actually realize you exist this year!"

"Yeah, just about as likely as it is for you to actually make any friends this year…," Matthew muttered under his breath, trying to swallow his sudden depression along with the chunk of egg he'd just chewed.

"What?" Alfred looked over at him, holding up the kitchen knife as he paused. Both his glasses and the knife seemed to gleam for a second, making him look extremely frightening.

"_Noth_—I—nevermind, just—nevermind… I was totally joking just then, not serious at all…," Matthew's voice got lower and lower until he just locked his eyes on his plate and avoided looking at the other anymore altogether. He had a good reason for being so nervous around his twin, really… Alfred had always been a little prone to anger, and there had been a couple times in the past when he had seriously hurt someone because of it. It was the worst idea to get him even slightly angry when he was holding a potentially deadly object.

_Huh?_ Alfred continued to stare at Matthew for a few seconds, genuinely confused. He hadn't heard any of what he'd said the first time, since their mother had turned on the blender just then… but oh well, he figured it didn't matter.

In the next minute, their mom told them to hurry up with their breakfasts, after which they were in the car and being driven to school.

Meanwhile, Matthew was honestly thinking about what Alfred had said... He _really_ hoped he could meet someone who didn't constantly forget who he was, and who didn't confuse him for his brother. After all, it was highschool, wasn't it? So shouldn't that be more likely, now that there were more students around and supposedly more interactions going on?... He hoped so.

And Alfred's thoughts were on quite a different track—with him hoping to gain a real reputation this year, not necessarily with anyone by his side, since he didn't really need a sidekick to his hero…. Except he actually really _did_ want a sidekick of some sort. Anyone who genuinely liked him, really.

Was a friend for each of them too much to ask?

* * *

**Yeah, I might have made Im Yong a bit _too_ much like Black Star... Oh well.**

**And in case you didn't catch the context clues, '_Spasiba_' means 'Thank you' in Russian. Speaking of which, I should probably mention that I made some changes to the characters' names and whatnot: Ivan, Natalya, and Yekaterina are still technically from the countries they personify in canon, but they don't know that themselves, and they were all obviously raised in Russia. And with South Korea being Japan's little brother in this story, he's now Japanese, and his last name is Honda. Same with Matthew's last name now being Jones, and him being American.**

**Well, now that you've read all the introductions... I'd really like to know what you think! I'd like for some people to tell me in a review how it is so far, how I'm doing for my first AU... yeah, all that good stuff. :D**


	3. Traumatizing

**Sorry for the wait. I thought it would be easier to update this story than my other one, which is why I put that one on hold until the school year ends... but this is turning out to be pretty time-consuming, too. And I don't have any reviews yet, but according to the story stats, it _does_ have readers... So I hope at least a few people were actually looking forward to this chapter.**

* * *

The ride in Antonio's car had been mostly silent the rest of the way (which, for them, had seemed rather long), so it felt good to be slamming the car doors shut and walking up the front steps to the highschool. And though he technically wasn't part of their friend group, Arthur stayed near them instead of hurrying up his pace or immediately stepping sideways into crowd and away from them—and endured their stupid chatter.

"You know, Gilbert—I don't know about whatever school you went to in Germany," Antonio was saying, "but I don't think this school will let you keep that bird on your shoulder. Or even take it into the school… Because. You know. It's an animal."

"Gilbird is not an _it_!" Gilbert corrected loudly, briefly attracting some attention from the people around (and they kept on looking because of his near-white hair and the bird on his shoulder). "Und I _vould_ say you should have told me zat earlier, but I vouldn't have left him behind anyvay… But!—it's fine, I can totally fit him inside my pocket…." He then unzipped one of his jacket pockets and scooped a quietly chirping Gilbird off his shoulder to place in there. It fit, but there was a large lump on his front now.

"See!" he said proudly. "He's just zat _awesome_."

Both of Gilbert's friends sighed as they passed through the front doors, and Francis suddenly noticed something that made his eyes widen very slightly in alarm—and so in the next second, Arthur felt a hand tugging on his shirt and brush against his backside.

"The bloody hell do you think you're doing, Frog?" Arthur practically shouted, half-turning around at once. "Don't grope my arse in public, dammit!"

Francis just smirked. "Part of your shirt was tucked inside your pants, and I am far too gorgeous to be seen wis you like zat. If it bozzers you zat much… I can just wait until we're _not_ in public to grope your ass…."

Arthur scowled at the suggestive smirk he was given (for the second time that morning, he might add) and turned his head back around, harrumphing.

They all slowed to a stop once they were standing in the middle of the commons area of the school, surrounded by many other students either standing in groups or walking around. There were tables with teachers (who had their schedules) lined up around the large room, and they looked around to quickly find the one that applied to them.

"Over there," said Antonio, pointing at the far corner, and he, Gilbert, and Francis started to walk. They supposed it was sort of lucky that all their last names were so close in alphabetical order.

But Arthur wasn't even in the same grade, and so he had to start walking in the other direction, where the Freshman J-Q table was. Francis gave him a parting wink, and he found himself walking away with a confusing mix of relief and disappointment.

* * *

Matthew had only been inside the highschool for a total of eight minutes, and he had already had his neck nearly snapped by one of Alfred's crushing side-neck-hugs ("Ha, highschool's exciting already, isn't it, Mattie?"), been ran into by a couple people, and had been shoved into a wall by another one of his brother's unintentionally harsh arm-movements. He swore, Alfred could have easily been in wrestling... (and he would know; he'd been pinned to the floor plenty of times in his life already).

The only lucky thing was that the schedules were already laid out for them on the tables, and there wasn't a huge crowd around them, so he easily found his and then promptly got away from Alfred.

Really, he just wanted to get the _hell_ away from Alfred.

So Matthew made his way across the commons and around all the people to sit by a spot on the wall that was currently uninhabited. He slid down to the ground and let his backpack fall beside him, and then he looked over his schedule—_Good, _yes_, no classes with Al…._ But it wasn't really a surprise. He knew he wouldn't have the same electives as him, and he'd always been the (much) smarter twin… so of course Alfred wouldn't have his classes.

Still, it was really good to get away from him…. This alone was the reason that Matthew enjoyed school. Even if he was just as transparent to people here as he was anywhere else.

So technically, the day was starting out pretty well.

* * *

There was a considerably less cheerful air now that Yekaterina had moved away from her adoptive siblings… which was only because of her last name being at the opposite end of the alphabet than both of theirs. It was probably the only time Ivan would ever actually regret (or have any feelings toward the fact) having kept his previous last name.

Not that Natalya could have done much while they were in the commons area of the school, with lots of surrounding people…. But having just _her_ was always at least a little uncomfortable. Besides… she didn't like people. Ivan knew that she preferred being alone (with only _him_ as company), and he knew that large crowds could make her unstable and angry.

And he was pretty sure that people were now staring at the both of them, if only for his height (it honestly didn't occur to either of them that his scarf or pipe was attracting attention)—but he didn't really care. A single, smiling glance in their general direction made them all panic and look away, anyway.

Moving his eyes down the rows of schedules, he quickly found _Arlovskaya_—for Natalya, and _Braginski_—for him. Ivan handed Natalya's to her and began walking away with her.

It took her no more than five seconds to look over hers, and then she looked up at him and said, "Let me see."

As he handed his schedule to her, he bent down to look over at hers, and—_Bozhe moi,_ they had all the same classes.

The small feeling of horror inside Ivan grew as he reread their schedules a few more times just in case he had read them wrong… but he hadn't. They were the same four classes… which he would be spending with Natalya for at least the rest of the semester…. _No…_

"Ve… ve haff the same schedule," he said calmly, hiding the dread he felt—which, as he noted the slight smirk on Natalya's face, grew. "Um… but…"

She knew exactly what he was thinking: _How is that possible?_

"I svitched out, Ivan," she explained, feigned sweetness mingled with an edge of anger in her voice. "After you vent and changed the subjects you _told_ me you vere going to take, I found it and changed mine as vell."

Well, shit. Ivan really had nothing to say to her revealing that she'd known about his deceit… and no doubt she was angry…. Oh God, he was scared now.

The fear in her adoptive-brother's eyes was satisfying. Fear meant submission, and you couldn't have love without some kind of submission… she didn't think so, at least. And the fear meant he was sorry, didn't it?—it meant that he didn't want to hurt her, that he was afraid of her discovering what he'd done because he didn't want her to be upset…. Oh, Ivan was such a jerk to her sometimes, but she loved him anyways, and she knew he loved her.

"Don't ever lie to me again," said Natalya, looking up at him. Her voice didn't match the cold look in her eyes at all.

Then again… Ivan's sweet smile and voice almost never matched his eyes, either.

Ivan nodded, trying at the same time to distance himself enough to where she couldn't grab a hold of his scarf.

"Good."

At that moment, they saw Yekaterina walking toward them, but all Natalya was thinking of was how happy she was that she would have the entire year with Ivan….

And all that he was thinking of was the repeating phrase of _Every day vith her… Every _single_ day vith her…._

* * *

"Ooh—yay, we have all but one class together, Ludwig! And the one is just because I somehow have Pre-AP English, which sort of sucks because you won't be in there—and I'm sure you're more than smart enough to be in advanced classes, but you haven't even been in this school district since fifth grade, so…."

Ludwig just listened and watched as his friend chattered away in his rapidly thickening Italian accent, half-annoyed and half-amused. Feliciano's presence these days was always rather confusing….

He'd been in a hurry to get their schedules the moment they'd gotten off the bus and walked into the school, and Feliciano had been somehow just as eager, but in a more… _enthusiastic_ way. As always, he was simply radiating happiness… and it actually kept Ludwig calm. Against the fact that he was in a new school around hundreds of other students, most of whom he didn't know, and would soon be starting his first highschool classes… it cheered him up.

While Feliciano talked and they walked, Ludwig's eyes moved down to his schedule to compulsively check it once again. Art and Cooking were on his schedule only because he and his friend had agreed to try to have the same classes—and the other boy simply refused to compromise even one of his choices. But he didn't really mind so much.

And it shouldn't have made sense that Ludwig would be put into a class below his level with his grandfather being the principal, but individual students' classes weren't really the man's choice. Apparently, students had to prove themselves capable of taking an advanced class—and those classes had all been full, anyway.

Amongst his thoughts, Ludwig was too busy looking at Feliciano's face to realize, at first, that his Italian friend had stopped talking and was now looking around animatedly.

He paused at the sight of a girl with long, platinum-blonde hair whom he'd seen on the bus, and he smiled widely.

"Oooh, Ludwig, that girl is _really_ pretty…," whispered Feliciano, briefly grabbing his friend's arm. The first thing he thought was of how the girl seemed to have a permanent sort of frown, and he wanted her to smile, because… well, because everyone deserved to smile.

Ludwig didn't like the grin on Feliciano's face, and he liked it even less that he immediately walked away from him and toward that girl without even saying anything. Actually, it was enough for him to stop where he was, stone-faced, and wanting to punch something with his sudden surge of anger (and jealousy?).

"_Bella, ciao_~!" he started cheerfully, making the girl look up at him and narrow her eyes. He was aware that she most likely didn't speak Italian, but girls always thought it was cute when he did that. "Hi, I'm Feliciano~! Are you a freshman?—because I don't remember you from last year, and I know I would have remembered a pretty girl like you…. What—?"

Throughout that little… greeting, or whatever you would call it, Natalya had already gotten fed up enough with the pathetic-looking kid to plunge her hand into her pocket and pull out her knife. So Feliciano suddenly found himself with a sharp metal blade pointed at his neck, and he jumped back as fast as he could, letting out a girlish shriek in his shock and fear.

"Wha—waaaaa…?" was all he could manage to say, as he now felt like crying. Almost more with confusion than with fear, really—he'd had no idea such a pretty girl would be so _scary_….

"Get avay—I am Ivan's and Ivan's _only_!—if you don't vant a knife in your neck—"

But then she was promptly interrupted by a very panicked Ludwig, who had hurried over there as soon as he'd seen the knife and was now grabbing Feliciano's upper arms and protectively pulling him further away. In his alarm, he didn't move from there, but his grip tightened and his arms went around his friend's chest a bit as he glared at the girl.

Registering that he was now in the grip of his bigger, stronger friend, Feliciano suddenly felt much safer… and he also felt a warm flush go through his chest. _Maybe I should flirt with dangerous girls more…,_ he vaguely considered.

Before either Ludwig or Natalya had the chance to say anything, another hand came over the girl's shoulder and grabbed the wrist of the arm that was still outstretched with the knife, pulling it back. Just a slight tilt upward of Feliciano's head told him that it was the tall, scary guy from earlier, and—Oh God, did they _know_ each other?

"Natalya, vos he… harassing you?" said Ivan, smiling at her. He was feeling rather protective over her instead of sorry for the poor bastard she might have wounded if he hadn't interfered.

"I vood call it that—"

"N-no…," Feliciano somehow managed to say and he was starting to cry a little. "I was just b-being nice, I'm—"

"—going. Ve're going." And Ludwig steered his smaller friend around at once, not even glancing back at the psycho girl and her tall friend (who he guessed were Russian, judging by their accent). He hurried to get the backpack that he'd dropped in his panic, then immediately began walking to the other end of the commons.

Before they got out of hearing range, they heard another, female voice say, "You should be careful, Natty—I am thinking this school vood punish you vith more than detention for pulling a knife out on somevun…."

Needless to say, they were confused. But all that was on Feliciano's mind was much he hoped he didn't have those people in any of his classes.

And all that was on Ludwig's mind was relief that this would (hopefully) be sufficiently traumatizing enough to make sure his friend never flirted with any girl ever again.

Which he wasn't going to tell Feliciano about.

* * *

Toris noticed his friend's lips pull into sort of a pout as they leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. Feliks was staring at his schedule with a resolute frown.

"We have, like, _no_ classes together, Toris…. This totally sucks!"

It was almost surprising how upset his friend seemed to be that they wouldn't get to have classes together…. He didn't know whether or not to be glad because of that.

"Well, you already knew that I was going to be in Pre-AP classes," explained Toris calmly, pushing a lock of hair out of his face, "and we were both together when we picked out different electives… so it's not like you should be surprised."

"Yeah, but…" Feliks folded his arms over his knees and huffed. "Whatever. I didn't remember."

"Come on, we still live right next to each other—so it's not like we won't talk everyday. And… maybe this'll be good for you to learn how to do your classwork on your own."

It wasn't that he was bitter from years of practically doing all of Feliks's work for him…. He was just a little tired of it. Honestly, he was a pushover in many ways, and he was always rather quick to say yes whenever his friend asked him to help him with something. And by "help," that meant doing it all for him—which he was pretty sure was because of laziness.

But either way, he was planning on changing that this year. Feliks would be forced to try on his own during class, and Toris would restrict himself to only the actual _definition_ of "helping" when it came to homework.

"Yeah, but you, like, _know_ you're way smarter than me," Feliks whined, leaning his head back into the wall and ignoring the small _thump_ that the impact made.

"I think you can be smart if you try," Toris offered. He neglected to mention that his friend needed to work on his common sense. "Maybe you could do that this year."

Feliks sighed. "…Eh, I'm probably not going to."

* * *

Ten minutes inside the school, Gilbird was getting restless, and he still hadn't seen Elizaveta anywhere. Gilbert was starting to get pretty frustrated.

For the first time in a long time, he was opting not to appear almost attached at the hip to his two best friends. Instead, he continued to walk seemingly aimlessly around the commons, pretending to be heading to the drinking fountain (since he still hadn't told Antonio or Francis what he was actually doing).

Until he neglected to realize that there was a girl directly in his path and bumped into her hard enough that he nearly fell over.

"_Hey_, vatch vhere you're—"

"Oh my God, _Gilbert_!"

Huh, that voice sounded a bit familiar… but the person that came with it wasn't. At least, not at first—because _verdammt_, she looked so different that it took him several seconds to recognize her even though she was the person he'd been focusing so hard on looking for.

"Elizaveta!"

His confusion turned to excitement, but then almost directly back to confusion—before she was able to say anything else, his smile half-fell and he said bluntly, "Vhy are you dressed like zat?"

It was an odder sight than he'd seen in an extremely long time…. Elizaveta, who had been more tomboyish than most of the _boys_ all through elementary school, who had actually been convinced _she_ was a boy until a teacher told her that she had lady parts and was therefore female… was wearing a tight shirt. And a _skirt_. _And_ she had her hair down and grown halfway down her back, rather than tied back in a ponytail.

"Dressed like what?" she asked, frowning with slight alarm and stepping back from having been about to hug him. _What?_ Why was he even talking about her clothes at the first time he'd seen her in three years?

"Like—like a _girl_!" sputtered Gilbert, throwing his arms forward in a wild hand gesture for emphasis. He really had no idea what to say, but he realized that he really couldn't take his eyes off of this new… her.

Elizaveta couldn't help but laugh a little. "Well… I _am_ a girl, Gilbert."

"Not vhen I left, you veren't! Vhen did zis even happen, vhy—?"

"I _grew up_, Gil," she told him like she'd told many people before, sighing and now looking almost too serious. She was starting to get annoyed with him, too. "And—oh, you still have that bird…. Heh, you haven't changed a bit, have you?"

"Nope, still as awesome as ever," said Gilbert proudly, but then going on, "…unlike you."

"What?" Taken aback, Elizaveta shifted her stance and narrowed her eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Vhat do you _sink_?" Now, Gilbert couldn't help but be angry. Though he wasn't completely sure why. "You—you vent all girly vhen I vas gone, und… you're dressed exactly the way you alvays said you _never _vould! Vhat's next, are you friends vith _Roddy _now, too?"

At that, her face flushed a notable shade of red, and she mustered up all the indignance she had—really, though, she felt more embarrassed than actually hurt.

"Actually, I'm dating him."

Woah. Did he hear her right? That couldn't have been right…. But was that _jealousy_ rising up in him at the possibility of it being true? And why was he still thinking that she actually looked really pretty with her hair down?

"You—you're… You're zat prissy-boy's _girlfriend_?" Gilbert said loudly and incredulously, once again attracting attention from the surrounding people. He also looked around in the immediate area for that stupid straight-upward hair curl, which he knew would immediately give away that _unawesome_ prick—but he didn't find it within two seconds, so he looked back to Elizaveta. "But—but ve both used to beat him up _all ze time_! You're joking; you must be joking, kesesese…."

Gilbert only laughed out of desperation, almost convincing himself that he was right about her not being serious. Because that sort of thing just didn't happen, it was impossible—

"No, Gilbert, I'm _not_ joking!" said Elizaveta, raising her voice as she got angrier and her cheeks grew redder. She didn't care that more people were starting to stare. "We started dating last year, if you _must_ know, and he's really not bad at all! _He_ grew up too!" At this point, she wasn't really sure whether she was defending Roderich or just trying to find a reason to be angry at Gilbert.

"Vell, if you sink I'm suddenly going to start being _nice_ to zat… _dummkopf_, zen you've—"

"Elizaveta, whe—Oh _Gott_, it's _you_ again…. I tsought you had left for good. I guess I was wrong."

Roderich's voice and face were bitter as he walked into the scene and glared at the insane albino who had made his life hell for several years, left, and suddenly came back into it. Granted, his current girlfriend had done the same thing… but she didn't bully him anymore. Well, not usually, anyway.

"What are you doing here?" said Roderich before Gilbert could do anything. He put a hand on his girlfriend's shoulder protectively, as though he was prepared to fight the other boy for her sake if he needed to—though he most certainly wasn't, especially not when he would be at risk of getting any of his clothes scuffed up.

Gilbert's red eyes bored into Roderich for a moment, and he wished he could just shoot lasers out of them and through that bastard, but then he looked back and forth between his enemy and his old best-friend. It seemed that guy had sort-of grown a pair over those three years… or maybe he just figured he was safe because Gilbert's friend was his girlfriend now. And if he did, then he was wrong.

"Talking to my friend—vhat does it look like, Roddy?" he finally said—though he was referring to Elizaveta as a friend more to piss him off than because he had forgiven her. Honestly, he didn't know how to feel… betrayed? Yeah, betrayed. She had gone all… _different_ on him, and was romantically invested in the one person he really hated. Except he refused to believe that she truly liked that guy.

"Don't call me 'Roddy,' you—"

"How in ze _hell_ did Liz decide zat _you_ vere good enough for her, anyvay? I find it pretty hard to believe zat she could settle for somevun vimpy und _unawesome_ like you—even vis her vearing a skirt, she's still ze man in ze relationship, isn't she?"

Elizaveta was torn as to whether or not she was enjoying having the two Germans fight in front of her (well, one was technically Austrian), but she then decided that she really hated having Gilbert talk like she wasn't even there. Even more so than the fact he was insulting her boyfriend.

"_Gilbert!_" she said almost shrilly, stepping forward and stopping her friend before he could threateningly grab a handful of Roderich's shirt (like he looked like he was about to do). "Stop it, just stop it! He might be wimpy, but he's _nice_, unlike the way _you've_ been since you got here!—and I haven't seen _you_ in three years!"

What, now she was trying to put the blame on _him_? It was her fault that his feelings were suddenly so confusing, and she had been the one to change so drastically. And it suddenly struck him that this probably wouldn't have happened if he hadn't left to Germany with the rest of his family…. So now he didn't know exactly whom to be angry at.

Somehow, Gilbert calmed down for a second, just staring at her and bunching his fists up at his sides while his face got red enough to match hers. "You hardly ever called me or emailed me vhile I vas in Germany."

Oh… _oh_. It was suddenly a lot easier to understand why he was acting like this, and her anger and annoyance was starting to abate….

But then the bell rang, cutting everything off, and teachers started helping freshmen find their way to their first period classes. And despite his usual dislike for—well, having to learn, Gilbert took the chance to give one last glare to Roderich before just turning around and charging off, which was the only thing he wanted to do right now. Several people were still staring at him, including Antonio and Francis, who were looking confused and started asking questions the moment they caught up with him.

Elizaveta frowned in the direction Gilbert had stormed off, but she didn't intend to talk about this with her boyfriend, so she quickly made her face calm, as though she didn't care.

"I'll… see you in Chemistry," Roderich said tentatively, feeling awkward but still angry about the German's return. He bent down slightly and kissed her on the cheek, then started in the direction of the Band Hall.

She just sighed, wiped her cheek with her hand, and tried not to think about either of the boys as she walked to her English class.

* * *

**Aaaanndd... I ended the chapter with angst. Poor Gilbert. I actually ship PruAus more than I ship PruHun, but I've experienced the whole 'friends-growing-apart-because-tomboy-starts-dressing-like-a-girl' thing, and I found it easier to write. Plus, I really don't ship Hungary with anyone other than Prussia or Austria, and I didn't want her to be alone. **

**Anyway, PLEASE review! I'd actually like to know what you think of the story rather than jst being aware that some people read this. So... who wants to be the first review? :D**


	4. Purely Academic

**Once again, sorry for the wait. Also, thank you to my first reviewer, the two people who favorited this story, and the three who have it on their watch list! ^_^ I hope you like the chapter.**

* * *

Kiku was almost surprised that all the desks in the Geometry classroom were labeled with their names for assigned seats—he'd thought that they had been through with that after middle school. Highschool really wasn't all that different, apparently…. So far, the students were just as immature, and the adults were just as condescending. The only real difference was that the building was bigger.

When he found his, he realized that he was one of the first people in the room—there were only a couple others in there, and they had yet to find their seats. _Hm._ He supposed it wasn't a coincidence that the same thing happened every year.

Only a few of the other students who walked in really caught his attention: One of them was because he was extremely tall for a freshman, another was because he wore his jacket without his arms in his sleeves and almost seemed to be sleeping as he walked in, and the last was because Kiku actually _hadn't_ noticed him at all until he was already sitting down.

It being the first day of school, new people tended to get lost, so the last student wasn't in the classroom until several minutes after the bell, and the teacher was perfectly okay with that.

"Hello—and I know none of you want to be back at school just yet, but my name is Mrs. Bond, and I'll be your Pre-AP Geometry teacher this eighteen weeks," she announced after closing the door and making her way to the front. She smiled, and most of the students already decided they liked her—and Li Xiao was deciding that she was pretty hot. "You'll get used to highschool soon enough, trust me. Anyway, I'll start calling roll—and since I don't know any of you yet, make sure to tell me if you go by a nickname or anything."

And so she began calling out names. Everything went normally until she came to "Heracles Karpusi," and no one answered.

"Heracles Karpusi? _Heracles?_" she repeated, frowning and looking around.

The first thing that Kiku thought of was how _Heracles_, a name of legend, was sort of an odd name to give a normal person…. And then he realized that the boy he'd noticed wearing the jacket oddly was sitting a desk over and two up, and he appeared to be sleeping.

Kiku hadn't been the only one who realized it, though: Nearly everyone was staring at the sleeping boy within seconds, and before Mrs. Bond could do anything, Kim, who was sitting behind him, kicked his seat and said, "Yo Hercules, wake up."

It was more the sound of "_Hercules_" than the chair-kick that had woken him up—he just really _hated_ when people called him that instead of his actual name. Heracles sat up and opened his eyes to see the teacher, as well as a lot of the other students, staring at him, but he didn't really feel embarrassed at all. Figuring what must have been happening while he was asleep, he raised his hand slightly and drowsily said, "Here."

There were a few scattered sniggers around the room; meanwhile, the rest of the class was staring at him weirdly. Lukas kept his eyes narrowed at the kid from across the room for the rest of the roll-call, and Toris was sighing inwardly, thinking that this guy was probably a lot like Feliks but without the flamboyancy.

Kiku, however, simply didn't know what to make of him. He'd known Kim for years and even occasionally enjoyed her company, but he had only just seen Heracles today, and he was actually feeling a little angry at Kim for being mean to him. And Kiku felt he should have already disliked this guy for being irresponsible enough to fall asleep in the first class of the first day of highschool… but he didn't. Perhaps it was because of Heracles's apparent shamelessness.

When Mrs. Bond was finally finished with the roll-call (a lot of the students already felt like they had spent too long at the highschool and wanted time to speed up), she immediately picked up a stack of papers from her desk to hand out.

Then Matthew raised his hand.

"Um, ma'am—" But the teacher didn't look like she'd heard him at all yet, so he desperately cleared his throat and tried to raise his voice before continuing, "Mrs. Bond, you didn't call my name."

"Huh?—I didn't?" Frowning, she retrieved the attendance sheet again and looked at it. "What's your name?"

"Matthew Jones."

"…Your name isn't on here." In confusion and curiosity, she narrowed her eyes and checked again. "Oh, wait—I think I have you down as Mathew Williams."

_Either way, you completely skipped over it in the_—but then he cut his own thoughts off, because he was pretty used to this feeling, and he knew that getting angry about it was useless.

"Williams is my _middle_ name," he said for what felt like the millionth time, as teachers made that mistake almost every year. He was starting to feel like it wasn't a mistake, though…. Well, in a way, it really wasn't—it was his mom's fault that he had a confusing middle name.

"Oh. Well, I can understand _William_, but the other way, it was too much like a last name for my eyes not to skip over…. I'm sorry, I'll get that fixed." Mrs. Bond raised a pen to the attendance sheet and was about to make a note to change it—

"Actually, um—you don't have to," said Matthew, gesturing for her to stop in alarm. "I can stick with Williams."

"What? Are you sure?" The teacher looked at him quizzically, not understanding why he would want to have his name wrong in the records, especially when he had been seemingly upset about it a few seconds ago. "Because then if I were to call your parents, they'd—"

"Trust me, they'd know you were talking about me."

"I… um, okay then… Mr. Williams."

She gave him another odd look before beginning to pass out the curriculum sheets again, but Matthew was honestly rather satisfied with himself. He'd never liked having to be related to Alfred, and now his name made it seem otherwise, even if his face didn't.

As far as the school was concerned, at least, he and Alfred were _completely_ different people.

* * *

The way Arthur's morning was going was pretty clearly expressed by the harshness at which his books hit the desk in his second period class. He'd expected English to be his favorite class, but he wasn't so sure he was going to like it this year, considering his new classmates. If it wasn't enough that he had to share it with _Alfred_, one of the most annoying people on earth, there was also that creepy Ivan guy.

Bitter as he was, Arthur was thinking how the day would probably only get worse from there—just when a certain perverted frienemy of his swaggered in. Both of them frowned.

"What the hell are _you_ doing in here, Frog?" Arthur managed to say first, half-standing up from his seat as Francis walked toward his desk, which was at the edge of the room.

"Well, my schedule says zat zis is my second period," said Francis simply, almost smirking. "I sink ze question is why _you_ are in 'ere. Why would you take zis class?" He raised an eyebrow curiously.

"B-because I thought this would be the surest way to be far away from you!" sputtered Arthur, only half-honestly. "You already bloody _speak_ French, so I figured you wouldn't take it."

"Onhonhonhon, do you know me at all, Arthur?" Francis laughed, making Arthur's scowl deepen. "I 'ate every language but my own—and ze only reason I speak English is because I 'ave to, so I'm certainly not going to take anozzer language. Besides, I won't 'ave to put forth any effort for zis class. I sink Antonio's doing ze same tsing wis Spanish…. 'Onestly, I tsought zis would be ze last class _you_ took, onhonhon…."

With that, Francis walked around to sit down at the desk directly to the left of Arthur, who merely kept scowling bitterly in response. After all, if they were to have this class together for the rest of the year, they might as well sit together. Unless the teacher ended up moving them, of course…. But if she did, then they'd just be shouting abuse at each other across the room.

"Really, zough…," Francis started to say seriously, turning to him, "I tsought you 'ated French. Remember ze time I tried to teach you 'ow to speak it when we were little, and you tsrew an 'uge fit, saying French was stupid and zat you never wanted to learn it again?"

Arthur smirked and let out a laugh, despite the fact that he should have been somewhat embarrassed. "You left out the part where I threw your notecards on the ground and then stomped on your foot."

They both sniggered, and then Arthur continued: "But I still do hate your language. Once again, I thought I'd be rid of you in this class…. It's too late now, though."

Both of them were aware that he could definitely try to get a schedule change, but neither of them were going to acknowledge it.

There was mostly silence between them until a minute later, when more and more students started coming in. That was when Arthur nearly choked in shock, as he saw _Alfred_—the one person he'd expect to see in French class less than anyone—walk in.

"'Ey, Matthew," Francis said, smiling and giving a short wave to the boy walking in. He smiled back, feeling extremely happy simply at being acknowledged; Francis was one of the few people who actually noticed him and _didn't _walk all over him once he did.

Frowning, Arthur did a double-take, looking between Francis and Matthew in alarm.

"Wha—how can _you_ tell the difference between the twins?" he asked in frustration.

"Matthew 'as longer 'air, _duh_. And he's less confident-looking zan Alfred. Ze kid really needs to learn to be more outgoing, you know?"

"Hm." He still didn't see it.

"And you need to wax zose caterpillars on your face, because ozzerwise you apparently can't see properly."

"_Hey_—men might act a lot like women in France, but _I'm_ not going to start being all prissy and waxing my—"

"Plenty of men are pretty effeminate in Britain too, sir."

They were both surprised to find that it hadn't been Francis who'd said that, but the teacher. Who was standing right behind Arthur. He expected it to be frightening when he looked up at her, but she was actually quite nice-looking, and he didn't seem at all insulted by his comment.

"Now, if you two are finished," she went on, sighing, "I can start the first lesson of the year."

Francis and Arthur nodded, the former briefly smirking over at the other.

After the teacher, Mrs. Rousseau, went through all the usual introductions and role call, she told them that the first thing she wanted to do before even giving them a basic run-down of the curriculum was have them get to know each other.

"And I'm sure you've all been doing this since middle school, so please try to pick someone you don't already know well. And try to be ready to present your information in about twenty minutes."

_Ugh._ Arthur hated these things. He didn't like talking to people he didn't know, and he could never just pick a partner…. It might have been easier if he could just partner with Francis, but the teacher must have known by now that they knew each other—and the Frog was already out of his seat and headed over to Matthew, anyway. _Bastard._

"Hey, I'll just be your partner, since you don't look like you're going anywhere," said a voice that Arthur didn't recognize, and he looked to his right to see a boy with shaggy, strawberry-blonde hair sit in Francis's seat. Well, at least he wouldn't have to go find anyone on his own.

"Okay," agreed Arthur in a tone that implied he resented the social interaction, getting out a notebook and tearing a sheet of paper out of it. "I'll go first. Name?"

"Sebastian Iorga," the other boy said boredly. Arthur suddenly noticed that his irises were red, and he was wondering how that was possible (since the guy wasn't albino like Gilbert) for a few seconds before asking the next question that was on the projector.

"Grade?"

"Sophomore."

"Any siblings?"

"Nope."

"Lucky bastard… Er, any pets?"

"I've got a cat. His name's Toma."

It went like that for a couple minutes, with Arthur asking the questions dully and impersonally, and Sebastian only occasionally elaborating on his answers (and when he did, they were a bit weird)—until he came to "Favorite book?"

"_Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_," said Sebastian proudly, a glint in his eyes. "Read it at least four times."

If Arthur had been drinking something, he'd probably have choked on it. And if he'd been looking away from Sebastian at the time, he would be slowly and dramatically turning his head toward him. His muscles froze and his eyes widened, though—and he nearly dropped his pencil.

"Oh my God, so have I!" he said excitedly, this being the first time in a while that he'd actually been this genuinely glad to be interacting with another person. "I'm actually re-reading _Half-Blood Prince_ right now—that one's my favorite because, you know—_Snape_, and you're probably the first person I've met around here who doesn't think Harry Potter is stupid."

"Holy crap, me too!" said Sebastian just as enthusiastically, his spirits pumped up at the sudden topic change into one of the things he loved more than anything. "I don't understand why so many people think Harry Potter's stupid or that it's for little kids—it's the best freaking thing in the entire _Universe_. People are idiots."

"I think it might be that it involves a lot of magic…. Most people our age are much too close-minded and don't believe in it. And they'll _refuse_ to believe that I have actual proof—I see fairies around here all the time," he finished as-a-matter-of-factly, as though it was completely normal.

"Really? That's awesome! I'm not sure if I've seen fairies, but I swear I saw some guy being eaten by a werewolf once. I'm pretty sure the forested area around here is infested by vampires and werewolves…."

Their conversation about magic and mythological creatures went on for a while until Mrs. Rousseau told them that she'd give them five more minutes before they all had to be finished, at which they stopped talking and hurried to get the rest of each other's information down.

Meanwhile, Francis, who had been watching and listening to some of Arthur's and Sebastian's conversation, didn't know what to think of his friend looking so happy. Sure, it was about Harry Potter, but… it was still odd to see. He couldn't figure out whether he liked it or not.

The bell rang a while later, long after they were all finished presenting their partners and Mrs. Rousseau had given them some of the basics of the French language. Arthur and Francis left together, as they both had lunch next.

"Sounds like you 'ad fun wis Sebastian," said Francis as they made their way down the halls to the cafeteria, smirking.

"What, are you jealous or something, Frog?" snapped Arthur, and he habitually tightened the strap on his backpack. And he was actually somewhat serious.

"Well, I never really liked 'im," he said truthfully, wrinkling his nose slightly. "'E always annoyed me. But you can do whatever you want wis 'im, I don't care. I just never tsought _insane_ was your type…."

Arthur scowled and hit Francis in the arm, which only made him smirk wider. "Shut up." Then he sighed inwardly, and as a thought came to mind, he spoke up again: "Hey—just out of curiosity… what other elective do you have?"

"Um…" Francis reached into his pocket for his schedule and unfolded it. "Cooking, fourth period. Why?"

But then he looked over at Arthur's suddenly horrified face, and he was pretty sure he knew the answer. "Oh… Onhonhonhon, you 'ave it too, don't you? Don't tell me you tsought it would 'elp you stay away from me as well, because zat would 'ave been ze stupidest assumption you've ever made."

"I didn't," Arthur groaned. The look on his face was funnier to Francis than anything.

"Zen _why_?" Francis laughed. "You're _'orrible_ at cooking!"

"W-which is exactly why I wanted to learn _how_, dammit, because you're saying that all the sodding time!" he sputtered, feeling his face go red in embarrassment of admitting he was aware his cooking skills ranked negative on the scale. "And I didn't assume you wouldn't take the class; I—I just… didn't think about it. But now you're probably _so_ glad that you get to make derisive comments at my food all year long."

"I don't sink zat's worth risking ze lives of 'ooever else is taking zat class…. Trust me, I'm not any 'appier about zis zan you are."

Neither of them knew it, but that was because they were subconsciously both equally happy.

* * *

"Hey, I figure that, since we'll be sitting next to each other the rest of the semester, we should probably at least know each other's names—you know, to eliminate future awkwardness, so… my name's Sadik Adnan. You?"

The outward friendliness and boldness of the boy sitting at the computer to his left was unlike that of anyone he'd ever met before... and for a moment, Kiku had no idea how to react. But then he figured that most people didn't make an effort to be nice to him, and he didn't want to be rude, so he answered simply:

"Kiku Honda."

"Oh, cool—like the car?"

Frowning slightly in annoyance, he tried not to think about how this was the umpteenth time someone had said that to him and waited for just a second to see if this was going to actually make him angry. It didn't.

"Yes, like the car," he sighed, starting to turn away but stopping when he heard Sadik's voice again.

"I like your accent—you're Japanese, right?"

"I—um, yes." Kiku narrowed his eyes slightly, deciding that Sadik was sort of strange, but he couldn't quite dislike the guy.

"Cool. Were you born in Japan or here?"

"Japan. But my family moved here when I was young, so I don't remember it."

"My family's Turkish, but I was born here. In case you care, anyway, heh." Sadik grinned at him, and Kiku was glad that he at least seemed aware that he might have been a bit overbearing. "I'm sorry, I'll leave you alone now…. But you seem really nice, so I hope we can be friends!"

Kiku attempted a polite smile at Sadik in response, but he didn't say anything because he didn't really want to be friends with anyone. He did appreciate the gesture, though.

And he found himself respecting Sadik, as nosy and almost annoyingly friendly he was.

* * *

As he left the lunch-line with his tray of food, Lovino briefly glanced around to see if anyone he knew was around. Not that he liked anyone he knew or even would have sat with them.

Hardly anyone even _had_ this lunch period, though. It was the last one of the day, which meant he and less than a fourth of the rest of the school's population had to eat _last_. But it also meant that it was easy to find an empty table to sit down at.

Lovino was perfectly okay with sitting alone. It had been forever since he'd actually had anyone he might call a friend, so he was used to it. He _liked_ being alone, he really did. And no, that definitely wasn't a lie.

There was almost always a scowl on his face, but at the moment it was actually for a reason rather than just his perpetual grumpiness: He had just come back from Woodshop, which was so far definitely not meeting his expectations. Well, he hadn't really had any expectations for the class—or even looked forward to it, but the point was that the class sucked.

Most of the other people in the class were okay, but Lovino now knew he would be stuck with an idiot, arrogant freshman with a huge cowlick, a really intimidating and tall guy who terrified everyone, and a couple of girls who _wouldn't stop talking_. It seemed, though, that the former two also didn't have any friends, because both of them had tables to themselves as well.

And apparently, the first project in Woodshop was going to be a box. A fucking _box_. And according to the teacher, they weren't even going to start said fucking _box_ for at least a week, probably more, because they first had to learn about all of the machines and then take a quiz to prove that they knew how to use them properly, as well as a safety quiz.

If that wasn't enough, the class Lovino had after lunch was something he really didn't want to take at _all_—Spanish. He hated that the school required everyone to have language credit, especially since he already spoke a language other than English. Shouldn't his fluency in Italian be enough? Shouldn't people who were already bilingual be exempted from that requirement, dammit?

While he was complaining in his mind, Lovino was hardly even aware of what he was eating. After about ten minutes, though, he looked down at the macaroni on his tray and decided that it looked and tasted disgusting. _Ugh_, he should have just packed a lunch for himself like Feliciano…. The one thing he had in common with his brother was that he was usually pretty high-maintenance when it came to food. Feliciano refused to eat something as disgusting as _school cafeteria food_.

But he was also pretty lazy, so he never did his own cooking, and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask his stupid little brother to make his lunches for him.

* * *

_Oh _Gott_ no, not _zem_ again…._

Ludwig had already had Ivan and Natalya in his Algebra class—and now it turned out that he had Cooking with them as well. He was honestly more upset for Feliciano than himself, as his friend was more prone to being frightened and crying, but he was definitely not looking forward to spending half of his school day around those insane Russians.

When he'd noticed them, Ludwig immediately grabbed Feliciano's arm and steered him to the farthest seat from the Russians. His friend didn't know why at first, but then his eyes moved over to the other side of the room and he understood.

"Oh no, they're taking Cooking?" he whispered, suddenly very nervous. "They're probably going to poison us all the first chance they get…."

"I vouldn't be surprised," agreed Ludwig, sitting them both down. He glanced over at Ivan for a couple seconds and noticed that he seemed, for some reason, a bit unwilling to sit next to Natalya. And then Ivan saw him and just smiled, which was extremely creepy and made him look away.

On the other side of the room, Ivan was now looking away as well and back to his adoptive-sister. She was sitting in the desk in front of his, turned around to face him and boredly fiddling with his scarf. He didn't mind it so much, since at least this meant there would be some time before her mood swung back into manic or murderous.

And really, she hadn't been too bad throughout the day, but she'd been letting everyone know that he was hers. Which he really wished she wouldn't do, as it scared everyone else away.

Natalya, meanwhile, was deciding that she didn't like American school very much at all. It seemed louder here than the secondary school back in Russia. The people didn't seem to have much personal space, and they smiled too much—and they weren't even like Ivan's smile, which was almost constant on his face and obviously there because he was always happy when he was with her.

Even the teachers were like that. They all insisted on everyone getting along and knowing each other—in the class just before this, Psychology, they'd all been forced to do this "Three truths and one lie" thing.

_"This is stupid game," grumbled Natalya, folding her arms and looking away from the expectant class. _

_ "I know," agreed Ivan somewhat cheerfully, "but just do it anyvays."_

_ "…Fine," she huffed—and then she glared at the rest of the class, continuing in a dull, lower tone than usual. "I am from Russia, my adoptive father is a Math teacher here, I love Ivan, and I vunce stabbed a man to death for threatening him."_

_ Everyone but Ivan stared at her in shock for a moment, and it was even worse once they realized that it was the second one that was the lie because Mr. Winter was actually a World Geography teacher. _

Ivan actually hadn't minded that. He was proud of Natalya for what she'd done back then.

Within the minute, there were several people filling the desks in between the Russian adoptive-siblings and the two best friends: Francis and Arthur were already arguing with each other about some derisive cooking-related comment when they sat down in two of the back seats. Kiku was also sitting near the back, since he preferred to avoid ever being the center of attention. Li Xiao was at the front, since he was pretty sure he would be expected to, considering his father was the teacher. And Roderich and Minahil just took whichever seats were open, since they arrived almost just as the teacher emerged from the back room.

A lot of the students assumed it was a woman at first because of the long hair tied back in a ponytail, and so they felt a little awkward when they looked at his face (and chest) for a few seconds and realized he was a man. He had a rather serious face, which contrasted strangely with the fact that his sleeves fell over his hands while he walked to the front of the room.

"_Ni Hao_—hello, I am Yao Wang," he began, folding his arms as he looked around at everyone. "You will call me _Mr. Wang_ and not anything else—although _Professor_ would work fine, too."

At once, Arthur leaned over to Francis and whispered quickly and a bit too excitedly, "I'm totally gonna call him 'Professor.'" Francis just rolled his eyes.

"There will be _no _talking while I am talking," Mr. Wang went on, looking directly at Arthur, who went a little red. "I value respect above everything. No one is to enter the kitchens in the back or touch anything from there without my say-so, and I expect that everyone here knows not to throw things across the room or leave trash on the floor. Because those are things I simply refuse to tolerate from highschool students. Fail to comply to any of those simple rules, and I swear I _will_ hit you—with my wok."

He gestured to the huge pan sitting on his desk, and everyone looked to it, some cringing slightly and others holding back laughter. Feliciano, of course, was among those taking him seriously and therefore a little scared.

Ivan, on the other hand, was thinking, _Hm, I_ _like his punishment methods._

"Any questions so far?" asked Mr. Wang, somewhat smiling. Feliciano spastically put his hand up in the air at once. "Oh—yes?"

"Will we be cooking any pasta in this class?"

* * *

Unlike his friends, Gilbert was leaving the school and heading out to Antonio's car in relatively low spirits. All day, his mind had been preoccupied with Elizaveta—especially after his second period of Chemistry, at which she'd stopped him outside the classroom to tell him that she was sorry for not trying to contact him in Germany and that she still wanted to be friends. Which only made him more confused about the really uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

He honestly hadn't been sure, at first, whether or not he wanted to remain friends with her. Gilbert still just felt like she had betrayed him by changing so much—she'd practically become an entirely different _person_. So would he even be friends with the same person he used to? It wasn't as though they could do all the old things that they spent their time doing—hunting for small animals in the forest and relentlessly bullying Roderich.

Hell, he wasn't even sure if he could even get along with her anymore, now that she was dating his enemy.

But he also wasn't sure if he only _just _wanted to be friends with her anymore. That was the feud going on inside his own head—was he… in love with her? Had he _been_ in love with her their whole friendship?—It had occurred to him pretty quickly after he had stormed off that morning, but it felt way too weird. Elizaveta had been so much like a boy when she was younger…. So did that mean that he'd been in love with a boy? Granted, he'd had a small crush on his younger brother's friend for a while, but Feliciano was pretty feminine.

Gilbert had come to the conclusion soon after Elizaveta had started talking to him after Chemistry, actually.

_"Listen, I haven't changed completely, you know…. I'm not a _weak_ girl, and I know I'm still strong enough to beat up Roderich if I wanted to. And I'm planning on trying out for the soccer team, since I made it last year. But please, can we still be friends? I just really don't want you to start hating me just after you've come back."_

He had answered yes after a second or so of consideration, which had told him that he needed to stop being awesomely stubborn for a moment and that, above anything, he didn't want to lose her.

And since then, Gilbert had spent a lot of time wondering what he could do to make sure he never lost her completely.

"Well, that was a pretty tiring first day…," said Antonio seemingly out of nowhere, snapping Gilbert out of his own little world. "Fucking sucks that we don't even all have the same lunch period, doesn't it?"

Automatically, in order to be part of the conversation and not appear to be acting odd, Gilbert frowned and said, "Sucks more for me, since I'll have no-vun to sit vis all year."

But his plan didn't quite fool Francis and Antonio, who noticed that their German friend seemed a bit too pissed off. As they slammed the doors shut and Antonio stuck the key in the ignition, they looked to each other and mutually figured that Gilbert was probably still upset about Elizaveta.

"'Ey…," Francis was the first one to talk, as he was more experienced in these matters and also slightly more concerned than Antonio was. "Are you and Elizaveta alright? You didn't fight again, did you?"

"Vhat?—of course ve're fine!" said Gilbert unconvincingly in his alarm. While he was growing to be more okay with his feelings towards Elizaveta, he most certainly did not want to admit them to his friends. Not knowing what else to do, he folded his arms, took Gilbird out of his pocket to put him on his shoulder, and slumped against the side of the car.

Both Francis and Antonio sighed inwardly, wondering if Gilbert was really that stupid. Did he actually think they didn't know? As a Frenchman and a Spaniard, after all, they knew love when they saw it…. But they decided not to argue, if only to preserve their friend's ego.

Meanwhile, Gilbert was absentmindedly watching the other cars in the street drive past and finally deciding: If he wanted to keep Elizaveta, he simply needed to get rid of Roderich.

* * *

**So... any guesses as to who Sebastian was? ;D It should actually be pretty easy. And I am really enjoying making Arthur so obsessed with Harry Potter. Also, one of the main reasons I made China the Cooking teacher (besides the fact that he's really good at cooking) is that I don't ship him with anyone, so I thought it would be better to make him a teacher. Plus, he's the oldest out of all the nations, so it makes sense.**

**Also, in case you're wondering, Mrs. Bond and Mrs. Rousseau aren't nations. So, for future reference, if it's not obvious, then a teacher isn't a nation or other Hetalia character. I did have a Geometry teacher named Mrs. Bond, though.**

**Lastly, PLEASE review! I'll be really grateful for your feedback! :D**


	5. What Can I Possibly Do?

**I had actually intended to make this chapter shorter than the others, but it somehow ended up being longer... -_- *sigh***

**Anyway, I'm sorry this chapter is a little late. School ends this Thursday for me, so I've had a lot of stuff to do. Plus, I finally decided to try out Omegle last night, and... Well, I'll just say it was a bad idea. I got hooked and spent about 2 hours RPing some FrUK. It was getting really good, and Arthur was getting drunk and Francis was buying flowers for him... And then the other person just disconnected. -_- **

**Um, so... yeah. Enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

Over the next two days of school, Ludwig realized that Feliciano apparently didn't quite suffer from trauma: His Italian friend continued flirting with girls whenever he could—and though similar instances of flirting had happened only a couple more times so far, it seemed like there had been much more.

And Ludwig found it extremely aggravating.

He figured that he needed to take the most care when they were walking to and from classes together, since that was the time they had to spare and when girls would be standing by the sides of the hall. So, all the while, Ludwig's hard, frosty blue eyes would flicker over to Feliciano, as though he were a dog, to make sure he didn't wander away. And he'd also spent some of the time trying to remember whether or not his friend had had a habit for doing this sort of thing back before he'd left for Germany.

One thing that definitely hadn't changed was Feliciano's talkativeness. He always had so much to say, and he'd already been reprimanded by teachers a couple times for it. If he wasn't talking, he was either humming or singing. And Ludwig had to admit, at least in the privacy of his own mind, that he had a very nice singing voice.

He might have told his friend that he should join Choir or something if he hadn't known Feliciano would likely urge _him_ to join as well—and if he hadn't had a better idea….

On Wednesday afternoon, when the two of them were leaving Mr. Wang's classroom (in which they'd just continued taking notes about cooking terms) together, Ludwig briefly caught sight of a flyer on the wall that he'd already seen a few times during the week, the news of which having been announced on the morning announcements as well: It was saying that soccer tryouts would take place all through the next week. He hadn't given it much thought before then, but the idea struck him very suddenly, and he took the chance to stop walking for a very brief moment, then continue and place a firm hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Feliciano," he said to the Italian's slightly curious expression, "I tsink ve should tryout for ze soccer team."

For a second, Feliciano was surprised at his friend's rather unexpected suggestion, and he looked over his shoulder at the flyer. Then, hesitating, he frowned and looked back to Ludwig.

"Why?"

"Hm? Vell… I just tsink it vould be a good tsing to do," said Ludwig seriously. "It'll keep us busy, it'll keep us in shape… it'll give us a reputation." Part of his reasoning was also that it was a sport—and boys played sports. But he didn't know how to put that into words in a way that made more sense. "It'll be fun."

Ludwig was looking at him with a set, expectant expression on his face, and Feliciano wasn't completely sure what to do. He had never been on any actual sport team before, and the idea of joining one sort of seemed like a bad idea.

"Um, but… I'm not sure if I'd be very good," he told him in a small voice.

"Zat's stupid—ve've played togezzer over ze summer, and you're really good." The serious tone of his voice was tinged with a bit of frustration to emphasize his honesty, and his brow furrowed slightly. "You don't need sheer strengts to have skill. Besides, isn't your grandfazzer ze coach?"

"Yeah, well… I play well with just _you_, but I don't really like the idea of being surrounded by so many people in a field. I'd rather not risk getting kicked in the face or anyth—"

"You von't get kicked in ze face. It really von't be zat dangerous." Ludwig sighed inwardly, as he hadn't expected it to be this difficult to convince Feliciano. So now, he felt sort of weird resorting to this… since it almost felt like he was showing some sort of weakness—"…Please?"

Feliciano wasn't entirely convinced of his safety, but he could find no way to say no to his best friend at this point. And really, the prospect of being on the soccer team with him suddenly seemed much more fun. So, with only about a moment's thought, he smiled and said, "Okay then, Ludwig! But are you sure that you'll have no problem with it?"

"Hm?" He frowned, a bit confused. "Vis vhat?"

"Well, you've never liked socializing very much at all, and you seem like you like it even _less_ now that you're back from Germany, and… I thought you might not want to have to cooperate with so many people on a regular basis."

Huh. Honestly, Ludwig was surprised to hear such an intelligent statement come out of Feliciano's mouth—not that he was stupid, but… well, he was pretty simple-minded at times. Feeling his lips start to twitch into a potential smirk, he suppressed it out of habit.

"I tsink I'll be able to handle it, actually," he assured him. That was when they reached their bus and started climbing on.

* * *

Mathias smacked his hand along with a flyer down on the table without warning the moment he got there, and he was greeted with four sudden head-turns and startled looks. Ignoring them, he said at once, "Alright, peeps, we're all going to join the soccer team this year!"

At that, Berwald continued glaring at him with no change in his expression, Tino's and Emily's expressions became confused, and Lukas frowned, pulling over the flyer to himself so that he could read it. Mathias just kept smirking widely at them.

"You do realize that trying out for the team doesn't ensure you'll join it," said Lukas dully after a few seconds of silence. He was still holding open the book he'd been reading.

But Mathias just took a couple quick steps around the round table to the spot directly behind Lukas, put a firm hand on his shoulder, and bent down so that their heads were at the same level. And he was still grinning, even though the other boy was glaring at him.

"Of course it doesn't, if you've got that kind of attitude," he said in an almost sing-song voice, just before he gave Lukas a relatively quick, but firm kiss on the cheek and a fond look. To which he just frowned more deeply and tried to rub it off. Then, Matthias addressed the rest of them: "Come on, we'll all kick _ass_ if we're on the team together. And from what I've heard, _soccer_ is the huge sport at this school—not football or even basketball, so it'll get us some major reputation points. I say we do it."

"I don't know…," said Emily, looking down at the milk carton in her hand for a second. "I'm not exactly athletic. And it doesn't even matter, anyway, since I'm a girl—and the girls' team doesn't play until Spring."

"Me neither," agreed Tino, feeling brave enough to contradict Mathias because Emily had done it first. He cringed slightly in distaste at the thought of joining any sport team—and he really didn't want to be forced to. He was the smallest out of all his friends, and he considered himself the weakest—or… most delicate. "Plus, I've heard soccer is one of the most demanding sports when it comes to endurance…. Most of us just don't have that."

"Well, if it's endurance we're talking about," Mathias started, smirking again, "then I'm sure Lukas and I will make it super easily."

He gave the boy in his grip a fond, suggestive look, at which Lukas grabbed his tie and pulled. Extremely hard.

"Ack—ghccghcgch!" It had been only a second or so of choking, but that had been _really_ painful. _Ugh,_ he thought his boyfriend's grumpy personality was pretty cute at times, but he figured that he should probably stop wearing ties. And he also stood up immediately, unwilling to have his neck constricted again.

"Well—" His voice was still slightly hoarse, and he had to cough to get it to work properly again. "_Well,_ anyway… now that I think about it, I don't doubt that Tino and his feminine body would be sent away from the tryouts. And Emily _is_ a female. I guess. Even though she has the lack of a rack to be able to pretend to be Lukas. But I've already decided it, and I'm obviously the leader of this friend-group, so we're all at least going to try out."

All of them just were just staring at him at this point, all extremely annoyed with these much too frequently-exhibited sociopathic tendencies of his—which had been going on since they'd all come together as one group of friends about eight years ago. Especially Emily and Tino, whom his purposeful insults had been directed toward, and Berwald, who was feeling the anger that Tino was simply too nice of a person to feel.

"If Tino d'sn't want t' embar'ss h'ms'lf for y'r sake, I d'n't th'nk he has t'," said Berwald somewhat unexpectedly—he usually didn't talk at all. Even with his inherently low voice and speech impediment that he'd had since forever, they could all understand him, as they'd learned to over the years.

Tino looked over at him in pleasant surprise, glad that he was being defended, and the others raised their eyebrows in expectation of the stare-down that was about to ensue: Mathias put both hands on the table in an intimidating matter and narrowed his eyes at the cold ones across from him.

It had been obvious from the start that Berwald held a certain disliking for Mathias (more than the others did, that is), and vice versa. The former simply didn't like being one of the "followers" in the group in spite of his being the tallest out of all of them, and he didn't like the way that the "leader" often treated Tino (who was really the only thing that made being in this circle of friends worth it). So when there were conflicting ideas between them, they usually battled it out silently and then came to a stalemate—or compromise, whichever you wanted to call it.

Something else might have been said if the bell didn't ring right in the middle of their staring contest, slightly startling a couple of them. As though nothing significant had been happening just then, Lukas slid a bookmark into his book, closed it, and got up to leave for Geometry. Then, Emily practically mimicked her twin brother and stood up to sigh, throw away her breakfast tray, and grab her backpack.

"…Hm," Mathias finally grunted, relenting only because of the inconvenient timing of the bell. "You guys will all be there to at least watch the tryouts. That's the last time I'm changing the conditions. Mathias out, bitches."

With that and a smug face, he left the vicinity with only Berwald and Tino behind him.

"I'll go if only to make sure he isn't breathing down my neck for the rest of the month," Tino half-groaned, at the same time sighing. "But if I tried out, I'd more likely become the ball than get an actual position."

At the look Tino then gave him, Berwald felt like smiling, but—as always—his face was stuck. So instead, he raised his eyebrows a bit in acknowledgement and stood up to start walking out of the cafeteria with him.

* * *

"Alright, before we start with the Ancient River Valley Civilizations, I want you all to read this packet that I'm handing out—oh, don't groan like that, it's not that long. I do want you to write some stuff, too, though: It's about Hammurabi's Code, and so I want you to circle some of the laws you think are particularly unfair and mark whether they show how the society was patriarchal, the social classes, or something else."

Matthew ceased paying any more than vague attention after that, and instead turned his focus back to the girl who was sitting a few rows ahead of him. He'd found himself watching her both of the days before; and he'd been unaware of it beforehand, but he'd realized that he really _liked_ looking at her.

Her name was Yekaterina, as he'd learned on the first day of school, and she had a heavy Russian accent from the very brief moments that he'd heard her speak. She didn't seem to talk much, but at the same time she looked very friendly. He was aware that most people wouldn't say she was attractive other than because of her extremely large breasts (Alfred had even pointed her out once, saying "Hey, check out that butterface"), but he honestly did think she was pretty. And soft-spoken, apparently. A lot like him.

Only the fourth day of school, and Matthew already had a crush. Not that he saw it as a bad thing—he just didn't know what he could possibly do about it. Ever since his first crush on Michelle Mancham (who was one of the only people who'd ever noticed him) a few years back, he'd decided that there was simply no way he could ever be brave enough to ask anyone out, and so he would simply never make an effort. He had accepted that he'd probably be alone forever, just having unrequited crushes on girls, and he was fine with it. But he did find himself fantasizing on gathering up the courage to talk to Yekaterina and becoming friends with her.

Because if _anything_ were to happen, Matthew really wanted to be friends first. He simply wasn't the kind of person to want to get to know a person solely through dates. That just seemed stupid to him.

When the stack of packets about Hammurabi's Code reached his desk, he took one and passed the rest behind him, then started to put it away in his backpack and get ready to leave. For another couple seconds, he looked over to Yekaterina to see her adjusting her headband, and he could just slightly hear her humming to herself.

He sighed, supposing (and hoping) that they'd probably be put together in a group project or something sooner or later.

* * *

Kim had just started walking out of the Business classroom and away from her short conversation with Ty when she was suddenly greeted with a new voice on the other side of her, which was at a rather high pitch—

"Hi—you're Kim, right?"

Startled, she snapped her head over to see the boy (who she was pretty sure sat in the computer desk next to her) smiling widely and friendily. Noticing that he had this stupid-looking curl sticking straight up where his hair was parted, she narrowed her eyes. And as she often did, she was already getting a lot of predisposed opinions about him.

"Yeah…," she said warily, annoyed.

"I'm Alfred!" he introduced himself cheerfully, feeling pretty confident that he was on a roll so far. He had noticed, throughout the week, that this girl seemed to not know how to smile, and that she was a generally grumpy person. But she was also very pretty, and she seemed like she could probably be happier if someone was just _nice_ to her. There was also something else drawing him to her, but he couldn't quite place what it was. So he'd decided to be the hero and be her friend.

Alfred then held out his right hand, smiling as warmly as he could manage.

"Yeah, I know," said Kim dully, staring down at his offered hand. Rather than taking it, she frowned and looked away, ignoring it—she didn't want to touch him, even if it was just shaking hands. There was only one person she'd willingly touch in any way, and that was Ty.

"So…" After several seconds, Alfred finally let his hand drop, but otherwise not taking her rejection harshly at all. "What made you want to take Business?"

Really? He was going to do _that_? _What a lame way of trying to make conversation with me…,_ she thought, groaning inwardly.

"I'm interested in business; why else?"

"Oh yeah, heh, I guess…." Alfred noticed that her expression had only become unhappier since he'd started talking to her, but that didn't faze him. She even started walking faster, as though to get away from him, but he just sped up his own pace as well. "Hey, I think we should be friends. I don't know about you, but I don't really have many, so—"

"Well, I'm not surprised, because you're really annoying," she snapped, looking over again and glaring at him. "So please stop talking to me—I have to go get on the bus, anyway."

Giving a small, angry huff, she continued forward and turned a corner in the hallway, heading out to where the buses were lined up.

Meanwhile, Alfred watched her leave, only somewhat disappointed at how things turned out. He couldn't honestly say he felt hurt at her comment, as he was almost constantly told that he was annoying, and all of this only told him that Kim would be a challenge. Sure, she was already giving off the air of hating him, but he couldn't expect this to be easy, could he?

Still feeling overly-confident, he spun around on his heel to change direction and walk out to the front of the school, where his mom would be waiting in her car for him and Matthew.

* * *

Toris was having a relatively quiet lunch on Friday until, a few minutes after he sat down, he saw something pink and blonde sit next to him out of his peripheral vision.

That wasn't to say that the lack of quiet was a bad thing, of course; really, it felt weird if things were too quiet for too long. He needed Feliks to be there and disrupt the peace, if only because he'd been used to it since they first met. Which was why he was glad that they at least had the same lunch period.

"Hey, Toris, you totally won't believe what happened in Fashion Design just before lunch," said Feliks as he sat down, gently hitting his friend's shoulder to get his attention. He was sitting a bit too close to him, especially considering that the rest of the table was completely empty, but neither of them cared.

Swallowing a bite of his salad, Toris turned his head around to see Feliks leaning on his side far over the table, apparently waiting to tell him his story. Only somewhat curious to hear it, he said calmly, "Yeah, I probably won't. What happened?"

"Okay, so we were, like, bored, so some of us were looking through Mr. Garrison's boxes of fabric and stuff…. And out of nowhere, Klara—you know, that really bitchy girl I told you about—just asked him if he was gay. It was _super_ awks, and like, everyone was quiet for a second, and Klara was just, like: _no_ expression. Then Mr. Garrison said that he was, like no big deal or anything. I guess it really isn't, and I thought so too, but that's just, like, a really weird question to ask a teacher, you know?"

"Yeah, it is…," said Toris, now feeling a little awkward himself. He had never met Klara, but from what Feliks had told him over the past couple days, she sounded like the sort of person he would hate. And he was also confused as to why she was in Fashion Design, since she didn't sound like a very girly girl, either. "So… wait, are you, um… the only boy in that class besides the teacher?"

Because honestly, Toris was surprised that his friend hadn't been asked the same question. And he sort of wanted to know what he would have answered to that question….

"Nah, there's a couple other guys," Feliks told him, his mouth full of the chicken sandwich he'd just taken a bite of. "But I think they're only in the class 'cause they were like, just put in there or something. I still think that you should get a schedule change to take the class with me, though, you know…. It's fun."

"Eh, I'm not really all that interested in clothes…," said Toris, a small _I-really-doubt-that-would-ever-happen_ sort of laugh in his voice. You know my wardrobe. I wear whatever fits."

"But we're in highschool now, so style is, like, _everything_," whined Feliks, pouting a little. He was never really one to try and see anyone else's point of view, not even his best friend's, so it was a little frustrating that Toris didn't want to be like him. "You look good, but you don't, like, have your own style or anything. It's just… meh."

Seemingly absentmindedly, Feliks started messing with Toris's hair, trying to flatten down the frizz a bit and straighten all the flyaway strands that were in his face.

As he was pretty used to this overbearing-ness, Toris couldn't bring himself to be that annoyed, so he just let his friend do what he was doing.

"That's exactly _it_, though," he said somewhat exasperatedly. "'Meh' _is_ my style."

"Hmph. Well, you could still do _something_…. I could put, like, a braid in your hair if you want. It'll look totally retro, but not _too_ hipster!"

Since Feliks looked pretty enthusiastic about his sudden idea, Toris held back any protests and sighed. "You're probably going to do it whether I give you permission or not, anyway…."

Proving his assumption, his friend took another bite of his sandwich and then immediately turned in his seat to separate a lock of Toris's hair from the rest and start with the braid.

"I'm still not going to give up Sociology for Fashion Design, though," said Toris, wanting to make sure Feliks was aware and didn't get his hopes up.

"What do you even do in that class, anyway?"

"It's sort of like psychology, but we're learning about society's affect on how people interact…. There's actually a unit about fashion in society in it, I think."

"That sounds kind of boring. Except for the fashion part. But I guess I'd need to be smart like you to think it was fun…."

After that and a second or so of silence, Feliks finished up the braid.

* * *

It was a good Friday so far for Ivan. Or at least, the lunch period was. Natalya had been sent to the principal's office for insubordination earlier during their Psychology class, which meant that he could finally have some time away from her. And it also meant that he finally had a chance to make some friends.

Because Ivan really just wanted to have some friends besides his adoptive-sisters. He loved them, but they were weird. Yekaterina could be a weak crybaby at times, and her boobs attracted too much male attention; Natalya was really overbearing and creepy, and she scared off anyone he tried to talk to. Ivan only had one class with Yekaterina, though, and though she had the same lunch period as him, she was sitting with her newly found friends at some other table.

Meanwhile, Natalya had hardly been letting him out of her sight throughout the week. He'd never thought that he would cherish his time in the school bathroom so much.

So, now that he finally had the chance, Ivan had decided that he was going to get a few people to be his friends. Though he didn't look like it, he really did crave normal human interaction…. If only socially, he _really _wanted to be like a normal person. And he almost felt sad that it had been so hard for him to make friends until now.

His plan had begun directly after Natalya had marched angrily out of the Psychology classroom: Before it was time for lunch, he'd sought out the weakest-looking kid in the class (since he'd known it would be easy to intimidate him into agreeing if he initially didn't comply) and told him that he was going to be his friend now. Easy enough.

The kid's name was Raivis, and he seemed pretty shaky so far. He wouldn't look Ivan in the eye, and he hadn't responded much to his attempts to make conversation while walking to lunch.

_"You know, you shouldn't be so rude," Ivan told him cheerfully, calmly putting a hand on the other boy's head and pushing downward more harshly than he'd intended. And he was blissfully unaware that Raivis was about to cry._

Hm, useless,_ he thought, realizing that he should get someone slightly less weak, too._

Which was why he and Raivis had sat down at a lunch table seating, at the time, only one person, whom he'd also immediately made his friend. Ivan had never seen this other boy before, but he didn't think that mattered.

_"_Privyet._ You don't look like you haff friends, so you can be my friend now, da?"_

_ Eduard looked up quickly, startled and confused. "W-what? But… I—I actually do have—" He cut himself off, blanching in fear at the other guy's childish, yet creepy, constant smile, as well at his massive size and probable strength. "Um… okay…."_

But now, as Ivan was taking his empty lunch tray to the trash can to throw it away, he was thinking that Raivis and Eduard weren't quite enough. Stopping for a moment, he pursed his lips in thought and looked around the cafeteria a little. What caught his eye were two boys sitting with each other at a table not too far away from him; for no reason in particular, he decided he'd go for them and that he was going to take the brunette.

Ivan first looked over his shoulder to check his table, but he quickly decided that Eduard and Raivis probably weren't going to try to escape—and if they did, he'd just get them back again. Then he started toward that other table.

* * *

It was only a minute or so after Feliks had finished making the braid in Toris's hair (which he actually sort of liked, now that he had it) that they saw someone else approaching their table. Only Feliks saw him at first, though, so only he felt initial worry. His friend wouldn't have recognized him, anyway. And before he could say any sort of warning, Ivan reached the table and caught Toris's attention.

There was a moment where he and the Russian just stared at each other, one smiling and the other looking curious but otherwise apathetic, and where no one said anything. And then—

"Hey—you." He pointed to Toris, then put a large hand on his shoulder. "You look smart, so I vant you to come vith me." And then Ivan slightly widened his innocent-looking smile, completely unaware of how much innocence he actually lacked.

All Toris could do was continue staring at him, now very confused.

"I—for what?" he asked, frowning.

"So you can be my friend, obviously," Ivan said, leaning further over him and unintentionally becoming more intimidating.

At that, Feliks got angry, and Toris was even more confused—was he being threatened? He really couldn't tell. It did feel that way, though, and he was feeling a very strong urge to get as far away from this guy as possible, and—_Oh God, is that a metal pipe in his belt loop? _

Okay, now he was scared. And he had no idea what to do. The whole situation was almost more confusing than frightening, but it sort of felt like this guy had very little understanding of the actual concept of friendship…. It was like he was a small child or something—and the scarf and deceivingly sweet smile exemplified that. Even though he was actually one of the tallest people Toris had ever seen.

"But—um…," he stammered nervously, "I don't even know your name." That was the best excuse he could come up with on the spot.

_Hm._ This kid seemed to be braver than the other two had been…. Ivan was liking him a lot already. There was no way he was going to give it up now, at any rate.

"My name is Ivan," he told him as though it were a random fact rather than an introduction. Figuring that things were set from there, he then gripped the other boy's shoulder harder and started to pull him up, turning his head away in his assumption as well. "You can tell me your name vunce ve're back at my table—"

"What—?—but I don't… I don't want to!" protested Toris—and somehow, all the confusion had gone away. All he needed to understand that there was some Russian, possibly sociopathic kid who wanted him to be his friend and wasn't going to take "no" for an answer. Almost surprisingly, it was Feliks who grabbed his waist and pulled him back down before he could physically struggle himself.

"_Hey!_" said Feliks angrily, feeling his face grow red as he glared at the Russian bastard. He had Ivan in two of his classes, so he at least sort of knew what the guy was like—and really, he could only define him as a freaking weirdo. Unlike a lot of other people, he wasn't afraid of him, but he still didn't like him. Especially not now. "You can't just, like, _take Toris_ _away_ like that. Check it, he's _my_ friend—so you can go get your own!"

By the strangely curious frown that Ivan then gave him, it seemed that he didn't like Feliks, either.

While Feliks resigned to staring down the Russian, Toris was too busy being strangely touched at his friend's protectiveness for a couple seconds to be afraid of Ivan. He supposed he couldn't be surprised, since they had been sticking up for each other ever since they were little kids, but it was always a nice feeling.

But when he looked back at Ivan's face, he decided that he would have preferred him to actually be scowling or something. This slight frown was just so _creepy_….

"Vhy not?" he asked, sounding relatively polite but finally having a sort of edge to his voice. "I vant him," he said as though it was a perfectly reasonable argument.

"Huh?" Now Feliks was confused. More confused than he normally was, anyway. "What do you mean, '_why not_'? It's… it's, like, not fair!"

_Oh…._ It was about fairness, then, was it? Well, Ivan could deal with that.

To their surprise, the Russian kid went back to smiling. And they really weren't all that confident they were going to get away so easily, since they could already tell that Ivan was totally insane—not to mention that he was actually carrying around a weapon in his belt.

"Okay, then—I am thinking… ve could arm-wrestle for it, _da_?" Ivan suggested. "I'll go against vun of you. Vinner gets Toris."

It was somewhat of a relief that they actually had a way out of it now, but not quite enough of a reassurance. Ivan was _huge_, way bigger and clearly stronger than either of them…. An arm-wrestling competition _really_ wasn't even all that fair of a way to settle it—hell, they shouldn't even have had to settle it in any other way than just telling Ivan to _go way_, since this whole thing was just wrong… but once again, he was just so much bigger than them. Not even Toris, as the smart one, could see any other way out of it; telling a teacher to make Ivan leave them alone didn't even seem like a viable option.

"Okay, fine," said Feliks quite suddenly, his voice snapping his friend out of his thoughts. Toris looked to him quickly and worriedly, not sure whether or not he should be mad at his friend for being to quick to agree to those terms.

"_Feliks, are you sure about this?_"he breathed, wanting to grab his collar to shake him, but refraining from doing so even in his panic. "I don't know if I even stand a chance ag—"

"I'll do it." His friend's voice held a lot more confidence than Toris was feeling. But he figured that this bastard could probably smell fear, so he was glad that at least one of them could be tough about it.

Plus, he did feel better about Feliks being the one to do it, since he'd always been the more physically strong one. As feminine as he looked and acted most of the time, he could actually be really tough when he wanted to. In fact, he'd actually been the one to fight off the bullies more often than Toris.

Not that it honestly seemed much more likely that they were going to win.

"Good," said Ivan, walking around to the other side of the table so that he could sit down. He still wasn't much shorter than he'd been standing up. "This'll be fun!"

As Ivan propped his arm up on the table by his elbow, Feliks hesitated to do the same—mostly because of how much smaller he clearly was. When they had both joined their hands and were ready, the larger one looked to Toris, waiting for him to count them down. Instead of doing so immediately, though, he stared desperately into those cold, blue eyes, searching for mercy….

But he didn't get it.

It took a few moments for him to resign to it (and the fact that this was officially the worst Friday ever) and say, "…Go."

Both of them immediately started putting forth physical effort, but while Ivan's face was as calm as ever, Feliks's was screwing itself up and going a little red. They were at a standstill for a second, and Toris nearly got his hopes up before—

With seemingly hardly any effort, Ivan slammed Feliks's hand down on the table, and they could have sworn that they heard a small crack. There was a moment of horrible silence.

"Done," said Ivan happily, getting up and moving back around the table. "Now, if you vant to, you can come vith me."

"W-what…?" Toris was hopeful again—was he really going to be allowed to stay? Of course; this must have all just been a joke, it—

"Just kidding, you come vith me because I vin!" And then Ivan let out a childish little laugh, which was considerably creepier than the smile. Before Toris's face could even revert to its horrified look again, the Russian grabbed his shoulder and easily hoisted him all the way up.

"Wait—no—I don't want to!" he pleaded uselessly again as he started to get pulled away, not sure whether or not he wanted to get attention from other people. Would anyone even want to try to stop this insane kid? …Weren't any teachers going to do anything? "Uh… two out of three…?"

"Ah, but that voodn't be fair, vood it?" Another sickeningly childish laugh. Toris honestly wanted to vomit.

Then Feliks started to stand up with his tray, getting an idea—"I'll just, like, come with you, then!"

"Um, no," laughed Ivan, pushing the blonde's head down and forcing him back into his seat. "I don't like you. And you're kind of stupid, so that's useless." At once, he jerked Toris's arm a bit too hard, and he had no choice but to let himself be pulled further away—if he didn't want his arm ripped out of its socket.

_No, no, this can't be happening…._ It was all just too freaking surreal. This sort of thing just didn't happen, especially not in a highschool….

"Feliks, do something!"

"I… um…" But his friend just stared at him blankly, his expression almost dream-like and not even all that worried like it should have been. It wasn't that Feliks didn't care, though—he just had no idea what to do. He simply couldn't process that his best friend was just being dragged away, that Toris was literally being _forced_ away from him by some insane Russian, who would probably try to make sure they didn't talk to each other again… and the entire thing was suddenly so confusing to him that it felt as though it weren't happening at all.

But… well, he'd lost Toris in a fair game, hadn't he? What was there to do?

Feliks wasn't moving. He was just staring at him. _Why? _thought Toris hopelessly. _…I thought we were friends?_

Toris kept protesting in spite of Ivan's iron grip, kept hoping that a teacher would see this and do something—or that his friend would go _get_ a teacher… but nothing of the sort happened. Because of that, he was feeling a really painful mix of betrayal, fear (of Ivan, of course), and anger.

In the next few seconds, he was being forcibly sat down at a table with two other boys sitting on the other side, both of whom seemed to be avoiding looking at Ivan. One of them he recognized from his Sociology class, but he didn't know the other guy. They were also giving sort of apologetic looks to him.

"Were… were you dragged over here too?" Toris asked quietly, still very shaken. It looked like the Russian might have heard him, but he didn't seem to care.

"He was," said the one he recognized (but didn't actually know the name of), pointing to the kid next to him, who was shaking. "I was already sitting here, though. We saw you, just now…. You definitely resisted longer than either of us."

Toris just blinked, unsure whether or not he should consider that a good thing. He then twisted around in his seat, trying to see what Feliks was doing, but he had hardly caught a glimpse of his friend (or… ex-friend…?) when Ivan grabbed the top of his head and turned it back around, at which he let out a soft yelp of surprise.

"Hey, you're my friend now, remember?" he said, now intimidatingly close to his face. "Not his."

Toris nodded slowly, and then Ivan continued to Raivis and Eduard, "This is Toris. Heh, you both should haff seen the look on his face a minute ago. It vos _hilarious_!"

* * *

**Fuck yeah, Nordics! :D Seriously, they are _so_ freaking fun to write... Especially Mathias. Gotta love our sociopathic Dane. And also, I'm havng a lot Russia feels after writing this... He's so tragically insane and totally unaware of it. I just love him so much.**

**So... enough of my thoughts, because I'd like to hear (or read, whatevs) yours. In a review, maybe...? :D**

**Seriously though, _please_ review. I want to know what you think~!**


	6. Let's Get Physical

**AHH I AM SO SORRY. I didn't mean to make you wait that long for this chapter, I swear. But I couldn't write on the last week of school because exams, and then I went to A-Kon for all three days (cosplaying as Belarus), and then... well, I got distracted by the internet and designing Hetalia shirts and Ouran Highschool Host Club. Which, by the way, gave me the idea that if the highschool in this story had a Host Club, it would totally be the Nordics. Either way, IT WAS REALLY BUSY, OKAY. Still, I'm sorry. I have a long chapter for you, though~!**

* * *

"Toris—_Toris!_ Come on, why won't you—?"

Feliks reached out a hand to try to grab the back of his friend's shirt before he could walk any further away, but he snatched it back when Toris finally turned around on his own. He was relieved to see that he didn't seem to be giving him the silent treatment anymore, but he didn't like that his friend actually looked rather angry.

"I'll tell you _why_, Feliks—" he started, his face growing red, "—because you didn't even do anything! You could have tried harder, you could have gotten a teacher—but you didn't! You clearly don't care about this friendship that much!"

Toris was letting out all the frustrations that had built up after lunch had ended and he'd been able to leave Ivan's presence. Really, though, there were a lot of things Feliks did to annoy him that he'd been keeping himself from expressing since they met, but he wasn't going to get into those.

"Wha—hey, I totally did try!" argued, Feliks, frowning. He was honestly somewhat confused as to why Toris was getting so worked up about it. That Ivan guy wasn't even that scary…. "And, like, I do care…. Even if _you_ didn't, I, like, still would…. But why don't you just forget about it? That stupid Russian bastard can't, like, _legit_ do anything to you at home or school, so—"

But then Feliks was abruptly stopped by having the side of his face smashed into the locker he was standing next to. Hard.

"_Feliks!_" Toris had only noticed Ivan walking up behind his friend a second or so before he'd done that, and all his frustration had suddenly disappeared to be replaced with worry. Instead of looking up at the boy responsible (and still holding the side of Feliks's head in one hand), he instinctively bent down and tried to help—but he, too, was stopped.

It was actually very easy for Ivan to keep both the annoying blonde's head against the locker and his new friend at a certain distance away from being able to help. He hardly had to put any effort forth—which he supposed he owed to all the forced labor done as a child and the strong body he'd grown up with. But it also hardly occurred to him that he was really hurting these two—he just knew he enjoyed it.

"That's… like, _him_, isn't it?" Feliks choked out dazedly, ignoring the terrified look on his friend's face—even as Ivan gripped his head harder and smashed it into the locker again. At that point, he wasn't sure, but he thought he could feel his cheek bleeding.

"_Da,_" said Ivan, sounding unintentionally scary. Still holding onto Feliks's head, he forcibly turned it, bent down, and smiled at him. "You know, I am thinking… that you are very stupid. You lost, so Toris is my friend now. But you are right, I am a bastard—I never knew either of my parents." With that, he let go of both of them and stood up straight, still smiling.

"Yeah, well—" Feliks immediately started talking back, hurriedly turning around to face the Russian and keeping his distance, all the while making sure Toris was out of range of being harmed. "You totally still can't keep us from hanging out, 'cause we're, like, neighbors! So suck on that, bastard!"

Toris's eyes widened at his friend's idiotic move in telling Ivan about that, but once he was able to react by using his hand to cover Feliks's mouth, it was too late. So all he could do was look frantically between the other two boys. _Oh God why, why, why, _why_ did you just say that?_

There were a couple seconds where Ivan just stared down the both of them, scrutinizing them curiously. He started unconsciously reaching for the pipe hanging out of his belt, at which Toris blanched and cringed, not wanting to think about what was coming, but then—

"Found you, Ivan!"

He hardly had time to let his face fall in disappointment before he felt Natalya's arms wrapping quickly and tightly around him, trapping his arms to his sides.

"Vy do you haff to be a jerk and vander off like that? I told you to vait outside the bathroom for me…. And who the hell are they?"

Her head peaking around his side, Natalya scowled at the two boys Ivan seemed to be talking to. She felt a great surge of anger and jealousy merely at the fact he was talking to _anyone_, but it also looked like they were scared, so she figured Ivan probably wasn't being friendly to them, which was somewhat of a comfort.

Strangely enough, once again, Feliks was the one who wasn't confused: Natalya was in both of the classes he had Ivan in, and she was absolutely crazy. Totally cray cray. Both in general and _for_ her adoptive-brother—which was even weirder and, like, totally gross. But Toris was suddenly more focused on how pretty this girl was than concerned about his safety, and he was really hoping that Ivan wasn't her boyfriend.

Ivan, on the other hand, was just really wishing that Natalya hadn't found him. However, he supposed it was for the best that he could tell her now, because otherwise she would get even scarier later. So he sucked up his fear of her and pried her arms off of him just enough to turn to her.

"This vun doesn't matter"—he grabbed Feliks's face and easily pushed him out of the way—"and the other vun is my friend."

Okay. Jealousy again.

"Friend…?" Natalya repeated slowly and dangerously, staring angrily at the brown-haired kid. "But… he's so scrawny and veak-looking…. And… you already have me!" Her voice started to get louder and angrier as she grabbed his arm and gripped it hard. "Vy vood you need another friend?"

There were angry tears forming in her eyes, and Ivan was actually starting to feel a little guilty—he'd known how angry this would make her, but he never wanted to hurt her feelings. He also didn't want this to happen in front of his new friend, so he decided to try to reason with her.

"Natalya…," he said desperately, looking worried and grabbing her shoulders, "ve'll talk about this later, okay? But if ve don't move, ve'll be late for next class. _Idyem_."

Without saying anything else to Toris or Feliks (who was now standing up again, but still holding the side of his face in pain), he started walking away, followed by Natalya. Meanwhile, the two boys were watching them leave, glad to see that they were gone but still somewhat confused as to what exactly just happened.

"So… that was weird," said Feliks, more calmly than any normal person would after something like that.

"Uh… yeah…. Who was that girl, though?" said Toris a bit dazedly. "She… was pretty."

At that, Feliks just looked at him weirdly. A girl stops him from possibly getting bludgeoned with a pipe, but then turns out to be a crazy bitch and scarier than the guy who's forcing him to be his friend, and all he could say about her was that she was _pretty_? _She's like, not even _that_ pretty…._

"She's no one," Feliks told him, harrumphing inwardly. "I'll see you after school."

It was only then, as his friend started walking away, that Toris remembered their previous argument. They hadn't really done any resolving with it… but he felt like they were definitely still friends, for some reason. He was still upset with him, but that sort of think with Feliks had been going on his whole life, hadn't it…?

_Huh… whatever. _

Before the bell could ring and mark them late, he started a fast-walk directly to Journalism.

* * *

Twenty or so boys sat on the cold metal bleachers on the side of the soccer field, most of them having already gone through the line to give the coach their names and parent's information. The ones that hadn't were only there either to watch or because they'd been dragged along.

Kiku Honda sat at the far left end, far away from everyone else, as he waited for the coach to get his things together and for the tryouts to start. He'd never even thought about being on any sort of sport team before the end of last week, when his mother had urged him to do something that would allow him to "socialize." Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Ugh, when were his parents going to realize that he didn't _like_ to be around people and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with that? Having an extracurricular may have been helpful for his chances in getting into college, but it would severely cut into his anime-watching time…. So part of him was just hoping he _didn't _make it so that he would have an excuse, but at the same time Kiku decided he wasn't going to be purposely bad because he simply wasn't the kind of person to try to fail at anything. He wouldn't have been able to bring himself to do that.

Meanwhile, directly behind Feliciano, who was feeling nervous but talking to Ludwig cheerfully all the same, Arthur Kirkland was shifting uncomfortably on the cold bleachers and folding his arms (as was his habit when he got nervous and wanted to feel less awkward). Like Kiku (though he wasn't aware of the similarity between them, nor had he even talked to that guy yet this year), he had been pushed to come out of his shell by his parents. The difference, however, was that it had really only been a _suggestion_ from his parents, and the real reason he was here was because… well, he wasn't _entirely_ sure why. But it was mostly to prove Francis wrong—that he could indeed make it on a sport team and was most certainly not too weak or too awkward.

Soccer had been his first choice, of course, since he wasn't bulky enough for football, he wasn't tall enough for basketball, baseball was much too _American_ for his taste, and… he'd never learned how to swim. Besides—soccer was apparently this school's main sport, so perhaps more people could like him and he could get friends other than Francis that way—

_No, stop it. I don't care about that…. _

A bit to Arthur's left (on the other side of Francis, who was there to watch) was Heracles, who already seemed ready to take a nap. A lot of the others had known him since elementary school, so they knew that he spent the majority of his time napping and were a little confused as to why he was interested in playing soccer. Only Kyle and Li Xiao had said anything to him so far, though, and he hadn't even given them straight answers.

Really, though, Heracles didn't think he needed to give them straight answers. As much as he liked sleep, he wasn't lazy, and he did like sports. His Greek physique could handle it, he was sure—and hell, the Greeks had practically _invented_ most of the sports currently played in modern times. He figured it was only fitting for him….

At the very top of the bleachers were the Jones twins, one of them much more visually enthusiastic than the other. And you know which one.

"…Are you sure you should be eating junk food right before the tryouts start?" Matthew was sighing, frowning at his brother, who was popping skittles into his mouth about one every few seconds.

"What?—yeah, of course—it's energy, isn't it?" laughed Alfred, who was actually bouncing in his seat a little.

Both of them were there for similar reasons, but neither of them knew the other's real reason: They both wanted to be on the team to impress girls. Matthew for Yekaterina, since he'd figured that he'd be more noticeable to her even if he only tried out—and Alfred for Kim, since this was a sure-fire way to get her to like him…. Yeah. Definitely.

Mathias, Lukas, Berwald, Tino, and Emily were all sitting together, the latter three of them sitting in front of the other two. All of them were looking either bored or simply unhappy to be there but the leader of the group, who was blatantly refusing to notice that all of his friends (or at least that's what he would call them) were hating him at the moment. Especially Lukas, whom he had an arm around and who was pretty annoyed by the physical contact—and in public no less.

And next to that group was a very mismatched one that a few people were staring at—Ivan, Toris, Raivis, Eduard, and… Natalya. Ivan had made the impulse decision to try out for the soccer team that morning (and for a lot of good reasons, actually, one of them being to spend more time away from Natalya and with his friends) and had told his three new friends that they were going to try out as well… they didn't have a choice. Luckily, his sister wasn't as angry as she'd been before, since he'd told her that Toris and the others were more like servants. Which, really, they were.

At the moment, even though she knew she wouldn't be able to try out with him, Natalya was sitting directly next to Ivan and leaning on his arm. She was happy to be there to support him, and it made her even happier to finally see him not wearing the scarf that Yekaterina had made him (and also to see him in a t-shirt and shorts, which were _very_ flattering on him), but she really wished those other three would just go away… especially that brown-haired one who kept staring at her and smiling. It was only with reluctance that she was going to put up with them at all….

And—well, Feliks was there too, but he wasn't really _with _them. Ivan wouldn't let him sit near his friend, but he and Toris had talked about it and decided that if they both made it on the team, then the damn Russian bastard wouldn't be able to keep them from spending more time together. And really, Toris was reluctant if only for his friend's safety, but he hadn't been able to talk him out of coming.

Down on the edge of the soccer field, Roma was finishing up with sorting out all the sign-up sheets. Once he figured that everyone who was trying out was actually eligible to try out, he turned toward the bleachers and looked at all of them for a second before blowing his whistle.

That definitely got everyone's attention. Along with a few inward '_Fuck, that was loud'_s.

"Alright, you guys," he started, smiling, "_I_… am Coach Vargas. Some of you will have to remember that; some of you won't. Depends on how skilled you are and whether you make it. And this year, I want to put together the best freshman team I can. We won the Regional Tournament last year, and I plan to at _least_ get that far again. Now… before we start anything, I notice that there are a few girls and others who didn't sign up in front of me, so if you are only here to watch, I ask that you _please_ move over a ways to the left. Thank you."

Because of Roma's not-so-stern tone, it wasn't at once or with any nervousness that Francis, Emily, Tino, Berwald, and a few others stood up and moved over. And as for Natalya, she nearly straight-up refused to move at all until Ivan pried her hands from his arm and urged her to go wait over with the other spectators.

"Good," the coach said cheerfully when those few people had moved. "Now, I've tried a lot of different methods of how to go about this over the past few years, and I've figured the easiest way is to make the first day—today—a trial day, where basically I can have everyone test their basic skills at once and weed out the people who I am definitely _not_ going to put on the team. Oh—and, just a heads up, I don't want any tears or mental breakdowns or hissy fits if you get rejected. I'd really rather not deal with any of those this year, and I don't think any of you would want to humiliate yourself in front of everyone else here. Okay. Got it? Good. We'll start now, then. Everyone get over to that end of the field"—he pointed toward his left—"and get ready to _run_. But not until I tell you to!"

With that, there was a relatively loud _creak_ as a lot of pressure was being lifted from the metal bleachers all at once and the boys all started walking down to the left end. Roma stayed at the back of the group so he could keep an eye on them, and he noticed that a good number of them looked much less eager than the others. That made him a bit less confident that this year's freshman team would be as stellar as he'd hoped. Or even close.

"Yo Feliciano," said Mathias soon after he hopped down from the bleachers with a sense of arrogance he had no right to have, "you know this is a _boys'_ tryout, right?"

Only the surrounding people heard—and luckily not Roma. Mathias was completely aware that the coach was his grandfather, though. There were a couple of sniggers from Arthur and Kyle and some others, but otherwise there wasn't much feedback (Toris was just surprised that that comment hadn't been directed at Feliks instead). Except a heavy glare from Ludwig.

Ignoring the glare and the fact that his joke clearly hadn't been that funny to the rest of them, Mathias laughed and casually raised his right hand for a high-five from Lukas. When his boyfriend (as _he_ referred to him, at least) merely glared at him for a second and didn't make any effort to high-five him, he just grabbed his wrist and forced the high-five.

"Wait… what's that supposed to mean?" said Feliciano innocently, frowning in confusion and turning towards Mathias. He had a feeling it was supposed to be an insult, but he was pretty slow on getting it.

Frowning more deeply, though he was actually glad his friend didn't get it, Ludwig put a firm hand on his shoulder (the one farthest from him, so it was more like putting an arm around his upper back) and turning him back around.

"Just forget about it, Feliciano…," he told him, taking another second to glare at Mathias. Granted, his friend _was_ kind of high-maintenance… and physically weaker than average, and he even remembered thinking he was a girl when he'd first met him, but that had still been unnecessary and mean. "Now—vait here for a second; I need to go ask your grandfazzer a question."

"Hm? Oh—okay~!"

Ludwig purposely fell back to the back of the group to walk where the coach was, and where hopefully no one else would hear him.

"Coach Vargas?"

Slightly startled, he glanced downward to see his grandson's friend looking at him seriously. It was odd enough to see that kid away from Feliciano, really….

"Oh—yes?" He raised his brow curiously.

"I—just needed to ask zis question," Ludwig started, feeling somewhat awkward in that he was talking to his best friend's grandfather in a much more formal way than usual but frowning in his seriousness. "…You're not ze type of person who vould let Feliciano be on ze team simply because he's your grandson, are you?"

That was an odd question, but okay. "No, of course not. You know me; I don't play favorites like that."

Ludwig wanted to raise an eyebrow to show that he begged to differ (considering how much attention he obviously paid to one of his grandsons and not the other), but he decided not to. Especially since he figured the man wouldn't try to get away with that now that he'd mentioned it.

"Vell," said Ludwig with his short nod, "if you end up not letting Feliciano on ze team, please don't allow me to be on ze team eizzer, even if I'm good enough." He wasn't going to continue with the rest of his thoughts, but it was obvious even to Roma: _It's eizzer both of us or neizzer of us. I don't vant him to be sad zat he didn't make it if I did, or zat ve vould spend less time togezzer._

Roma frowned for a moment, but then couldn't help but smile. That was too damn cute right there, no matter how serious Ludwig was trying to be. He was glad to know his grandson had such a good friend.

"Okay," he said, nodding a little in agreement.

"Tsank you." Ludwig didn't even look at him again before quickening his pace to go return to Feliciano's side and taking a spot at the end of the field.

When everyone was lined up (some of them were stretching a little), Coach Vargas blew his whistle again—"Alright, I want you all to run to the other end of the field and back. Twice. I'll choose whether or not to keep you on after this based on when you finish, how _exhausted_ you are when you finish—or if you even finish at all. Questions? Okay. Just let me get the advanced stopwatch app on my phone up… and, there it is. _Only_ start running when I blow the whistle! And…"

He blew the whistle and started the stopwatch at the same time, and then just watched.

Most of them were doing okay on their way to the other side for the first time, whether they were trying to pace themselves to a point or just run as fast as they could, as Roma could see. The first one to just stop altogether, though, did so only halfway through his first run back to the left side.

Raivis couldn't deal with the pain in his side (which had started a little before he'd reached the right end of the field) anymore—and it was to the point that he probably wouldn't have been able to make his legs work harder to run if he tried. And he really _didn't_ want to try, since spending even more time around Ivan would be hell…. So he just stopped and started walking off the field (finding it difficult to do even that, his legs were throbbing so much) and back to the bleachers.

"I'm… done…," he panted as he passed the coach on his way to the gate that led out of the soccer area.

Honestly confused, Roma turned around halfway and furrowed his brow at the kid. "Why did you even try out in the first place…?"

Raivis stopped for a second, staring at the ground to avoid looking towards the field for fear of seeing Ivan, who he guessed was angry at him right now. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Um… okay," said Roma slowly. "But—uh, hey, don't forget your backpack on the bleachers."

"Oh—thanks…."

Meanwhile, Eduard was trying his best to get farther away from Ivan, and he was feeling extremely jealous of Raivis for getting to leave. If only he had as little dignity as that kid….

Around five minutes later, most people had finished with the laps. It was clear just how helpful this one test of skills was afterwards, as Coach Vargas had to have one other person leave for nearly collapsing while running, two for not running near as fast enough, and yet another three for simply being much too exhausted once they reached the left end the second time. Luckily, none of those were Feliciano or Ludwig.

The weeding out continued with (after a short break) a test in general kicking skills, which took longer than expected and only knocked out another two people from the chance to be on the team—Carlos for not being able to aim his kicks at all and Eduard for not being able to kick a far enough distance (which was totally _not_ because he was sucking up his pride and purposely trying not to in order to avoid being on the team with Ivan. Okay, it totally was).

"Well then… oh. Wow, that was actually almost an entire hour? I blame you guys, heh." Coach Vargas put his phone back in his shorts pocket and clapped his hands together. "As I told you all before you signed up, tryouts go on all week—and now that I've weeded some of you out, we're able to start with the individual stuff. Which we can't start today, since I have the Sophomores to try out once the hour's over. But I have the order of which I plan to have each of you try out officially—" He then read off the list he'd written earlier, giving them the days they'd each be likely to be do their individual tryouts. "I do recommend, though, that you still come each of the days for the rest of the week no matter when yours is, since you'll want to see how the other people do—and also in case we finish that day's round of people early. So… any questions? No questions? Good. All of you are free to wait on the bleachers until your parents pick you up, if you need to wait for them."

Anyone who didn't already know Coach Vargas personally (everyone but Feliciano and Ludwig) was pretty much deciding at that point that they really liked him. He was definitely not the harsh, military-esque sort of coach that was generally expected of any highschool coach—he actually seemed like a pretty cool guy, and any of them would have be glad to have him as their grandpa.

Well, except for Matthew. Because he'd been raising his hand to ask a question right when Coach Vargas had confirmed there were no questions.

And the question he'd been about to ask was about why his name hadn't even been on the list at all.

He supposed that the only reason he hadn't been weeded out during this whole thing was because he hadn't even been noticed. And right now, he felt like putting his head between his knees.

"But… but…," Matthew said, his extreme disappointment obvious on his face.

"Huh?" Alfred looked up from his phone, on which he'd been texting their mom to ask when she was going to be there to pick them up. "Whatsa matter?"

"He didn't even… ah, just—nevermind. It doesn't matter."

The ones quickest to leave the area and start on their way back home were Kiku and Heracles, who both walked home, followed by Li Xiao, Natalya, and Ivan, who all had a parent who taught at the school and was waiting for them in the student-staff parking lot.

Ivan was disappointed that two of his new friends had proven to be so physically weak that they couldn't even make it through the basic skills trial. Natalya wasn't. In fact, she was spending the majority of the walk to their adoptive-father's car trying to tell him that that was a good reason to stop allowing them to be his "servants." …At least he still had Toris. He seemed to be very fit…. Ivan just needed to make sure that kid's stupid friend didn't make it on the team as well.

Back at the bleachers, Mathias's friends were making their way back over to meet up with him and Lukas.

"So, are you going to tell me I was awesome, or what?" was the first thing Mathias said, putting an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders and smirking. "Lukas and I are so totally going to make the team—_except, _sweetheart," he started to added, turning to face the boy in question, "you need to work on the way you run. I noticed you get a little bowl-legged when you—_bfpfpfft_!"

Annoyed, Lukas had slapped him across the face—right on the cheek. But it only forced his face away for a few seconds as he got into his dramatic mood and remained in that position for longer than he needed to, and he didn't let go of his shoulders.

"Um… so, who's getting us a ride home?" asked Emily almost boredly, though suppressing slight giggles at her twin abusing his boyfriend (she knew what went on; he may have constantly denied it, but they were totally boyfriends).

"My mom can drive us," said Tino, raising his hand slightly and absentmindedly checking the time on his phone. "I texted her while Lukas and Mathias were doing the kicking-thing. She's probably waiting at the front of the school right now."

"Alright then, to the car, Midgardians!" Mathias half-shouted dramatically, hopping down off the bleachers and putting his hands on his hips while he waited for them to do the same.

"Oh God, he's in a _Thor _mood again…." Lukas muttered, getting off the bleachers and walking toward the gate with the others.

"Hold on, dude," Emily started to say to Tino as they walked, "doesn't your mom have a small car, though? There'll be six of us."

"Yeah…," Tino made a face and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "We'll have to squeeze. Or someone will have to sit on someone else's lap."

"Lukas can totally sit on my lap—!" Mathias shouted, but he was promptly cut off by Lukas hitting him in the stomach.

And Berwald couldn't help but glance down to his left, where Tino was walking, at the mention of someone sitting on someone else's lap. (Lukas ended up sitting in Mathias's lap anyway.)

Arthur and Francis (who were going to be driven home by Antonio) were walking a ways behind them, the former seemingly stuck with a smug sort of smirk on his face.

"Told you I could make it, Frog."

"I wouldn't speak too soon—zat was only to weed out ze _completely_ inept people…," said Francis teasingly, and in a sort of sing-song voice. "Even if you _do_ do well enough tomorrow, I 'ighly doubt you'll be able to make it in a team wis _ozzer people_. Your lack of cooperation skills will likely get you kicked off razzer quickly…."

"You shut up; I can bloody well cooperate when I want to!"

"Exactly—you never want to. Don't fuss so much about it, zough; your immaturity's kind of cute sometimes~," Francis added, leering a bit at him as he pushed the gate open.

While those two were leaving, Roma, having heard them, approached the part of the bleachers where his grandson and his friend were sitting.

"Do you know those two?" he asked, jerking a thumb over to where Arthur and Francis were.

Feliciano looked over and almost immediately smiled and let out a short laugh. "Heh, yeah. And yes, they've always been like that."

Frowning slightly, Ludwig turned his head toward his friend. "Zey have? I know Francis is one of my brozzer's friends, but… I vould have tsought zat he'd tell me zat, since it seems important to know." He then deepened his frown, annoyed that his brother would neglect to tell him everything that he could once he lost a lot of his memory.

At that, Feliciano glanced over to Ludwig with a somewhat sad look, as he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable whenever the subject of his friend's memory loss came up. He just didn't like to think about a person as strong as Ludwig losing enough to make him vulnerable in any way.

But then he smiled, looking as cheerful as ever again before his friend could see the sad look. "I'll have to tell you all about them later, then! _Oh dio_, it's actually a really long story with them…."

"Oh—do you need a ride home, Ludwig?" said Roma. "Because I've got to stay here for another hour…."

"No, my grandfazzer's picking up both me and Feliciano—actually, I tsink he's over zare at ze gate right now…. Yes. Zat's him. Come on, Feliciano."

"Alright, good," Roma said, glad his grandson and his friend wouldn't be made to wait on the bleachers for an hour during the sophomore tryouts. He decided to follow them to the gate, though, since it occurred to him just then that he'd never actually met Ludwig's grandfather…. The kid had only lived with his parents before going off to Germany, where they'd died (as Feliciano had told him). It wasn't so much that he had any suspicions Ludwig's grandfather was untrustworthy or anything as it was that he just wanted to thank him for driving his grandson home. Because he was just that kind of person.

He stopped walking the moment he was in greeting range of the other man, before he could even open his mouth all the way, though. It was… his face. He _recognized_ that face. And the hair.

"…You!" said Roma in shock, almost unable to even fathom what—_whom_—he was seeing.

Ludwig's grandfather didn't see him at first, but once he caught a glimpse of his face—hell, once he caught a glimpse of his torso—he knew it could only be one person in the entire world. And… _Heilige Scheiße._

"You," he echoed, though a lot more calmly. Of course, he'd been known throughout much of his life for being calm, and the other had always been known for quite the opposite. "I haven't seen you in over tsirty years… I tsought I vas rid of you."

"Yeah, so was I! Not that it was even my fault that that happened…." Roma couldn't believe this. Over thirty years, and he was actually meeting the one person he could honestly say he hated, whom he'd never wanted to see again. He could hardly help but be angry. "And _now_ I know why Ludwig always looked so familiar when he was over…. But how the _hell_ did you even end up being his grandfather?—hell, I thought you were—"

"You don't need to bring my grandson into zis," Baldric said abruptly, a vein flickering in his temple. Both he and Roma knew the real reason he had cut him off, though. "I vould like to know, however, vhy I am only discovering zat you vork here _now_…." He narrowed his eyes at him.

"And why would it matter to you?"

"Because I am ze principal here, starting zis year. Alzough, I suppose I von't have to interact vis any of ze coaches much…."

"You're the _principal_, and I'm only finding out now?" Well… damn. This day was certainly getting better by the _second_. "They don't tell me anything."

"Or perhaps you're simply not observant enough, _Roma_, as alvays," snapped Baldric, practically hissing the other's name. He hadn't said it since the last time he spoke to him. "I loathe to say it, but ve may have to get used to zis if our grandsons are friends. Und I have notsing against ze rest of your family—just you, so I'm fine vis taking Feliciano home—"

"Oh—hey, _speaking_ of us—" Ludwig finally cut in, raising a hand as though trying to get them to remember he and Feliciano (who was looking hopelessly confused) were still there, "—vhat in ze _hell_ is going on?" He found that his only option was to be extremely blunt about it. Because he and his friend were way too confused.

"I… I'll explain it to you later, Ludwig," Baldric sighed, unconsciously gripping his grandson's shoulder.

"Yeah… you too, Feli," Roma said awkwardly, hating that Baldric had had to say it first. "You can… you can just take them home. I don't have anything against your family either. I just don't feel like looking at you anymore…. And I'm busy. I'll see you at home, Feli."

With that, he turned and walked back to the soccer field with a bitter expression, leaving his and his enemy's grandsons to look at each other, shrug with bewildered looks on their faces, and then leave to Baldric's—the principal's—Ludwig's grandfather's—his enemy's—car, feeling pretty awkward about it.

And back at his table, Roma felt almost more awkward than angry himself. Because he may have hated (if nearly forgetting about him counted as hating) that man for most of his life, but he still trusted him.

* * *

**And because I'm evil, you have to wait until the next chapter to find out about Roma and Baldric (I don't think I'll need to explain who that is... hopefully). Kesesesesesesese... **

**BUT I'm expecting theories from you people! And if not theories, then at least normal reviews. PLEASE. *cute Italy eyes that no one can resist* ...Please?**

**Oh- and also, if any of you went to A-Kon, I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW, PLEASE. I mean... it would just be crazy if I'd happened to see any of you guys there and hadn't known it. I was walking around with my friend, who cosplays Italy (and he's a _male_!), and I glomped a LOT of Russias.**


	7. Pour the Wine

**Oh look, I actually updated within a week. I'm sorry to say that you probably shouldn't get used to that, though, because my stupid brain had to give me a plot bunny that won't go away, so I'll be starting yet another story (it'll be a FrUK medieval!AU, in case anyone's interested).**

**Also, I decided (upon suggestion from a reviewer) that I'll tell you which pairings each chapter is going to be centered around as warning, in case you don't like reading about pairings you don't like. Not that I recommend skipping anything, though, since other parts of the story might not make sense to you.**

**So, in this chapter: RoGer (Rome/Germania) sort of, GerIta, FrUK, SuFin**

**Oh, and I've gone ahead and changed the rating to M for reasons you'll find out later in the chapter. I figure it would just be safe, either way.**

* * *

Roma stepped through the threshold and slammed the front door with unintentional harshness. The world around him really wasn't on his mind much at the moment; he was still too overwhelmed by what had happened about two hours earlier.

He simply couldn't believe he had met Baldric again, after all this time. That kind of thing simply didn't happen…. It was the coincidence of all coincidences that it had—or not a coincidence at all. Perhaps it was fate just messing with him. Or both of them, really.

"_Ciao_, grandpa!" Feliciano said once he saw him walk him, waving to him with the huge plastic, forked spoon in his hand. He had made dinner—some type of pasta, obviously—and was scooping it into bowls that were out on the counter.

"_Ciao_, Feli," he returned, letting his huge gym bag slide off his shoulder and walking into the living room to set it down on the couch. His voice didn't hold the usual heartiness or cheerfulness, though, and his grandson realized it.

It worried him. Feliciano wasn't used to seeing his grandfather in a mood like this—actually, he didn't think he'd _ever_ seen him serious like this. The man's voice and facial expression were closer to Ludwig than his usual self, and he looked pretty deep in thought…. And as… mentally slow as he could often be, Feliciano knew it was because of his friend's grandfather. So he hurried to finish putting the finished lasagna into bowls and carried them over to the bar at the end of the kitchen.

"Lovi, dinner~!" Feliciano called, and a few seconds later, he heard the click of his brother's bedroom door opening… and then it slamming. Roma then sighed and sat down on one of the stools, Feliciano doing the same.

"So… Grandpa, you said you'd tell me later about… that thing—"

"Tell you about what?" Lovino interrupted, having just walked in and grabbed the remaining bowl of lasagna. He frowned and narrowed his eyes at the both of them (or rather, gave them his usual face) and walked over to the counter to grab the parmesan.

Roma, looking a little surprised and flustered, honestly hadn't expected that he would have to tell Lovino as well. But in retrospect, he supposed that both his grandsons should know about this.

"Well…," he started hesitantly, "you weren't at the soccer tryouts, so it won't make as much sense to you, Lovi, but—"

"He was going to tell me how he knows Ludwig's grandpa and why they hate each other!" Feliciano cut in, almost cheerfully. Roma glanced over to him, thinking that he should probably be annoyed but then that he had made it better and less awkward for _him_.

"Woah, woah, _woah_—you knew the potato-bastard's grandfather?" Now even Lovino was intrigued. Both he and his brother knew next to nothing about their own grandfather's past from before their mother had died—it wasn't that he was super-secretive about it; they had just never asked much. So this was already pretty interesting. At once, Lovino snatched the parmesan and hurried back over to the bar to grab the remaining stool and pull it over to the side opposite the other two. "And you _hate_ each other?"

Feliciano briefly frowned at his brother having called Ludwig a "potato-bastard," and Roma sighed.

"Yes," Roma confirmed, poking at his lasagna with a fork. "The story honestly isn't all that long, but… okay. Just listen." He took a breath and a bite of lasagna to give himself time to collect his thoughts. "Baldric—Ludwig's grandfather—and I went to the same middle school after I moved here from Italy. He always seemed pretty annoyed by me, but I made friends with him. And, well… we stayed friends for a long time. We were really close friends, too—I got into a lot of fights and he would always step in and fight for me and then tell me how stupid I was for getting myself into so much trouble."

"What, you couldn't fight for yourself?" interrupted Lovino, frowning and cutting his grandfather off from his flashback. "You're always telling us how you've always been the strongest guy around and shit…. I wouldn't think you'd ever need a bodyguard."

Roma ignored the swearing—mostly because he remembered Baldric once saying the same exact thing to him. And then he almost smiled fondly at the memory, but he stopped himself, thinking that he shouldn't be happy about any memories with that bastard.

"Yeah, well, strength isn't everything. There were obviously some guys bigger than me. Besides, it was more like he tried to keep me from getting into any fights in the first place. No more interruptions." Roma paused to roughly run his hand through his hair a couple times. "Anyway, we stayed friends all throughout highschool, and we even went to the same college. When we graduated, he was the first to get an actual job and he kept bugging me about how irresponsible I was…. Even then, I still got into a lot of fights. Usually barfights, though. Baldric and I went out to bars a lot. And he was still sort of my bodyguard. And—I didn't realize it back then, but now that I think about it, I think he was getting colder and colder towards me as time went on… and one night—I guess he completely snapped—he and _I_ were the ones getting into a barfight. It… involved a lot of chair-throwing. And he must have been a lot stronger than I thought he was, because he ended up hospitalizing me. Later, when I was okay, I was ready to forgive him, since I'd thought he was just really drunk, but it turned out he wasn't at all. He did all that on _purpose_, and he wasn't sorry. And then he told me to fuck off—well, he told me that in German, actually—and I told him I never wanted to see him again. And he moved out of his apartment, so I didn't. Until today."

Once he finished, there were a few seconds of silence in which his grandsons just stared at him.

"…I think that _was_ pretty long, actually," Lovino said bluntly. "But what are the fucking _chances_ that that guy would go off and marry some woman, have kids, and then one of _those_ kids would end up being the parent of the potato-bastard, and that _he_ would end up making friends with your _grandson_?" Honestly, it was difficult just to wrap his head around that kind of coincidence….

"Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap, Lovi?" Roma warned him with a non-committal eyebrow raise. He never really did anything about the swearing, though, and he wasn't going to. He just felt like, as his guardian, he should at least try to get him to behave.

Meanwhile, the other one of the Vargas brothers wasn't speaking, but instead looking down at his bowl of lasagna somewhat sadly. He didn't want to think that his best friend's grandfather would do something like that to _his_ grandfather…. He just knew that Ludwig would never purposely hurt _him_… would he? Ludwig would never get _that_ fed up with him, right? …Either way, it was hard to think that their grandfathers hated each other. That made him worry that there was some established feud between their families, even though both of their grandpas had already said that there wasn't—and he _really _didn't want to fight with Ludwig….

Noticing that his grandson looked sad and that he was barely touching his pasta (which was actually the more worrying thing), Roma frowned, since he knew exactly why. Feliciano had always been pretty sensitive, after all….

"Hey—" He put a consoling hand on his grandson's shoulder, smiling, "Feli, it's fine, really. My relationship with Baldric is _not_ going to affect your relationship with Ludwig, okay? You guys have been best friends for _years_, so what makes you think we're going to change that without even trying? Like we said, we only have grudges against each other, not each other's families."

That comforted him a bit, but not quite enough. Feliciano nodded and resumed eating his dinner, still lost in his own thoughts, and Lovino rolled his eyes at how much of a crybaby his brother was.

"And if you're really that worried," Roma went on, why don't you just finish your dinner and then go call Ludwig to ask if anything's changed? I'm sure he'll tell you that he still wants to be your friend." At that, Feliciano nodded again and started hurrying with his lasagna. "Hn… you know, I could really use some wine right now."

With that and a grunt, Roma stood up and walked around the bar to get to the pantry, from which he pulled out a bottle of white wine.

"Ooh, can we have some too, Grandpa?" Feliciano said, having seemingly gotten over what he'd been sad about and abruptly looking up from his dinner. Lovino looked over as well, eyebrows raised hopefully.

"Yeah, I guess you two can," agreed Roma, smirking a little. "But just a little, and you have to finish your dinner first.

There was a silent "_Yes!_" and fist-pump from the older brother, and they both emptied their bowls in less than five minutes. Roma was glad, too, since he really just wanted to be alone with his wine and his thoughts for a while. Once the boys had gotten their couple mouthfuls of wine, they both left to their bedrooms—Feliciano was going to do what his grandfather had suggested, and Lovino was going to struggle with his Spanish homework for about twenty minutes before giving up and watching TV.

Relieved, Roma poured himself half a glass of wine and sat down on the living room couch, just thinking about Baldric and trying to get rid of all the sudden stress.

There had been one major part of the story that he had chosen not to mention to them: About a month before the incident that had broken up their friendship forever, he and Baldric had slept with each other. Of course, it hadn't really been on purpose—it had been another drunken night for the both of them. But he apparently hadn't been drunk enough, because he'd remembered it the next day. And he'd liked it.

So for the following month, he'd slowly convinced himself that he might have been in love with his best friend. That had been the first time he'd had sex with a man, and it had honestly felt more right than all the girlfriends and one-night stands he'd had (which were a _lot_). Which was why he had felt more betrayed than anything the night that Baldric had beaten him so horribly, not only destroying a couple blood vessels but also his _reputation_….

In all senses, Baldric really had destroyed him. Destroyed the man he used to be, anyway. Everything had changed so much after that night… and there had honestly been times, in the beginning, that Roma missed him. But now that man was his superior at the highschool, and surely they would be seeing more of each other if only because of their grandsons' relationship….

He was kind of surprised that Baldric had ended up getting with a woman, though. After all that, he'd been so sure his friend was gay… especially considering that he had been Baldric's first, for all he knew.

_Life is just really funny like that sometimes, isn't it…?_ Roma mused as he downed the last of his small portion of wine.

* * *

Ludwig stared at his grandfather, unsure what to make of the explanation he'd just been give. He had never thought of the man as violent, even if he had served in the German military for some time… so it was impossible to imagine him going completely berserk on Feliciano's grandfather and beating him to the point that he'd had to go to a hospital.

But he was also glad that Gilbert was at Francis's house for the time being, since he had a feeling that his brother would be overexcited by this kind of information, and he really didn't want to deal with that.

"Zare is one tsing I don't really understand…," Ludwig said slowly, frowning. "You say you snapped because he vas being more and more selfish und annoying und 'it vas ze last straw'… but…"—he narrowed his eyes and frowned more deeply—"I can honestly say Feliciano is very annoying at times, but I vould never hurt him for it. Especially not like zat."

_Oh._ He could tell that his grandson was disappointed in him, that he was having second thoughts about him in general… or possibly that he suspected he was lying. It made him hurt with shame, but he simply couldn't bring himself to tell Ludwig the whole and absolute truth.

"No, you vouldn't," Baldric half-sighed. "But I vas drunk. It's not my fault he decided to hold a grudge for zat. Und… you may not believe it now, but I did not hurt him as much as he hurt me."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes again, looking across the couch at his grandfather. There was something hidden there, he knew it. Something the man wasn't telling him. And he didn't think any amount of prying would get him an answer to what that was, either. But he figured that whatever he was hiding, he was hiding it for a reason, and he respected the man's desire to keep whatever it was a secret.

Still, though, he couldn't help but see the man very differently now….

"Yes, vell, I know now. I don't fully understand, but I know enough. I guess I'll just… go to my room now." Calmly, Ludwig stood up and started to walk toward the hallway. Baldric was going to just let him, but then something came to mind—

"Vait—Ludvig, are you and Feliciano… dating?"

_Vhat? Vhere did zat even come from…?_

Abruptly turning around and probably giving away more than he intended, Ludwig looked at his grandfather seriously. "No, it's not like zat. Ve're friends."

But Baldric could see his face turning a little red and his shoulders getting a little too stiff, which made him think otherwise. So he continued as though there had been no denial on his grandson's part: "Because I vould be completely fine vis it if you vere, you know."

"Vell, you don't need to be, because I'm not dating him," Ludwig said firmly before turning back around and leaving.

_Hm._ Baldric leaned back into the couch and sighed inwardly. He didn't know what that had been supposed to accomplish, anyway. Proof that his grandson liked boys wouldn't really have made him any more willing to tell him the truth—that he had (and still did) hated Roma so much for breaking his heart.

_He woke up that morning in Roma's bed, completely naked but for the sheet on his lower half. His friend was lying on the other side with his back to him, hair utterly disheveled from sex and sleep. Everything from the night before suddenly came back to him in clear view—he had had much less to drink than the other man, so alcohol hadn't washed that memory away. _

_ Of course, he was sure Roma wouldn't remember it. Baldric didn't think he would like to believe it if he was told about it, either. After all, with him constantly bragging about all the women he hooked up with… he would probably do anything to convince himself he was completely straight. _

_ So Baldric's immediate thought was to get out of the bed and get some clothes on. When he did, though, he immediately felt the soreness in his ass that hadn't made itself known before. _Gott_, Roma had been relentless, hadn't he…? He wondered if that was the same with all of the women he had sex with. And then he felt almost too jealous to function, so he stopped thinking about Roma's relations with other people._

_ Once he was dressed, he didn't leave, but instead just went and made coffee and waited in his friend's living room. He figured that, once the other man woke up, he could just tell him that he'd crashed on the couch because he was too drunk to get home. _

_ When Roma woke up, everything went fine and he didn't seem to suspect anything. _

_ A few days later, however, Baldric overheard a phone call that he wasn't supposed to. It occurred to him that it might be his fault, since his friend didn't even know he was in his house at the moment—nor did he know that Baldric understood Italian, which he was speaking at the time, but what he heard pretty much canceled that out: _

_ "Yeah, I finally got in bed with Baldric.—Unbelievable, right? Congratulate me.—I know, I never thought I'd get this far, either, but I'm really fucking glad I was able to.—That man's so… non-sexual, though, that I didn't think he had it in him, heh.—Giving it, obviously.—Well, I wanted to—"_

_ But Baldric left in his anger before he could hear any more of that conversation. He didn't even want to know whom Roma was talking to; that was _enough_. _

_ So the man _hadn't _been that drunk…. And he had known all about that night but hadn't said anything to him. Huh, unexpected. But him bragging about it on the phone to someone? Even more unexpected. In retrospect, though, he supposed he should have seen it. Of course that selfish bastard would only be in it for the sex and the bragging rights that came with that…. Roma never even acted like a real friend. Of course. Of _course_ he should have expected this. _

He really was a fucking bastard.

Baldric was surprised Roma had been able to settle down with a woman and get children and grandchildren. He'd always seemed so afraid of commitment when they were young…. Meanwhile, he had left to Germany as soon as he could, gotten a girlfriend, and then joined the military. All just to _forget_ Roma, about whom he'd never told anyone. And then he'd been sent home and had a daughter, who ended up having Gilbert at a young age and then moving to America once she got married. And somehow, she had moved right into the area that Roma had apparently moved with his grandsons.

…Despite his hatred for the man, Baldric sort of wanted to know his story, too.

* * *

Tuesday's individual tryouts were somewhat of a disappointment, as it only yielded two people who had a chance of making it. Even then, Coach Vargas couldn't come to a definite decision as to whom he was going to put on the team, as there were still a lot of people to try out.

Lukas, to Mathias's great disappointment, didn't make it simply due to being too "average" on everything. Just a bit more skill, and he probably would have been considered… but he wasn't. And he was glad about it. The other one rejected was Li Xiao, who was pretty frustrated about not making the cut (but nobody could tell because his face certainly didn't show it).

However, both Arthur and Heracles were asked to stop by on Friday afternoon to see whether or not they made it, at which the former completely abandoned all subtlety.

"_HA!_ In your frog-like _face_!"

Francis just kept walking and stared at the overexcited boy walking and practically jumping next to him, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed. Arthur's extremely thick eyebrows were knitted together in a somewhat angry-looking _I-told-you-so!_ expression, and he was jabbing his pointer finger at him… and then holding up his first two fingers in what he knew was the British "Fuck you" gesture.

"Oh, _super mature_, Rosbif. Because of course everytsing's all about you. You're not even officially _on_ ze team yet, and you're already jumping up and down like a deranged baboon."

"You're one to talk!" Arthur snarled back, suddenly ceasing his jumping. "You constantly get so close to people that you might be picking bugs out of their hair, and you're calling me a baboon? You just love ruining my fun, don't you, Frog?"

"Of course I love ruining your fun," he smirked. "It's what I live for."

"And it's what you're going to _die_ for, too!"

Arthur swiped a hand across the air and hit Francis directly in the neck, and the other boy wasn't able to let out any noise of pain except for a short wheeze because of his trachea being abruptly blocked. He quickly got over it, though, and retaliated by lunging down to grab Arthur by the waist and tackling him to the ground. However, he realized that he was about to push the Brit's head straight into the cement, so he twisted himself on protective instinct and ended up landing on the ground straight on his back with the other boy on top of him.

_Ugh… well, zat certainly backfired…._

"The hell are you trying to do, you perv?" shouted Arthur once he was able to get over the shock, and he attempted to knee Francis in the groin. He missed and ended up hitting hip bone instead, but it still hurt. For revenge, Francis rolled him over so that he landed _hard_ on his back on the cement—which got him a brief yelp and a harsh yank of his hair.

Heracles paid them no mind as he passed them on his way home, and Coach Vargas was standing far behind them, back past the gate inside the soccer field, just staring wide-eyed and unsure of what to do and saying to himself, "Oh my God."

"Hey, if you guys are going to stop having foreplay on the ground anytime soon, I'm ready to drive you home."

Antonio had noticed them fighting and had decided to walk up to them from his car instead of wait. Because waiting would have gotten him nowhere. It would have made for more entertainment, though….

"Yeah, alright," Francis huffed reluctantly as he pushed himself to his feet and then held his hand out for Arthur to grab and pulled him up.

"I suppose I probably _should_ be in more of a hurry to get home…," Arthur agreed, brushing himself off and thinking bitterly of all the chores he had to do when he got home and how angry his father would be if he didn't finish them.

While they were walking over to the car, Antonio couldn't help but smirk to himself and think, _Heh, neither of them denied it~._

* * *

On Wednesday, it was no surprise that both Ivan and Mathias were told to come back on Friday, considering how big they both were—though their main skills were brute force and intimidation. Toris was surprisingly very agile and had a natural skill in aiming his kicks correctly—however, his friend ended up getting too carried away and, while trying to kick a ball around the lined-up cones, directed it very fast and very hard toward the bleachers.

Unluckily enough, it headed straight for the section that Mathias's friends were sitting and watching in—for Tino's face, to be precise. The ball was going fast enough that Coach Vargas couldn't do anything, and there was hardly even time for Tino to duck—but he didn't have to because Berwald immediately sensed the danger and raised both arms to block the other boy's head, catching it directly as it was about to hit him.

As he'd only had time to flinch and close his eyes very quickly, Tino was surprised to find that he _wasn't_ feeling the smack of a ball against his face. And then when he saw Berwald's arms in front of his face and holding the ball, he was too amazed to even thank him for a second.

"…Woah—I… thanks, Berwald…," he said weakly, and Berwald just took the soccerball out of his face and threw it back to the coach, looking as serious as ever.

"Y'r welc'me," he muttered, feeling relieved that he'd been able to stop the ball and glaring at the boy who'd kicked it. Feliks looked back and was intimidated into looking away within seconds.

"Holy… _woah_." Impressed, Coach Vargas looked down at the soccerball in his hands, walked over to the bleachers, and approached Berwald. "Hey—you, why didn't you try out for the team?"

Berwald stared at the grinning coach across from him, not quite sure how to respond. "I… d'dn't r'lly…"

"You have the reflexes and the build," Roma cut over him, not having really understood what he'd said anyway. "I think you should be goalie."

Woah, was it really going to be that easy…? Not that he even wanted to be on the team, but was he actually being offered a position on the team without putting forth any effort?

"Hey, you should totally do it!" Tino agreed, smiling encouragingly up at him and briefly squeezing his arm.

It was the arm-squeeze that did it. If Tino wanted him to, then Berwald was sure as hell going to do it.

"Okej, s're." He nodded and stood up, and Coach Vargas led him to the field, told Feliks that he was out, and then had Berwald go through a couple of trials just for procedure.

When the tryouts for that day were finished, Toris was thoroughly depressed that his friend wouldn't be joining him on the team and wished that he hadn't made it himself. Ivan, on the other hand, was very happy about that, and Feliks didn't really seem to care either way ("It's, like, okay—I could totes-McGotes be your cheerleader, though~!").

And Mathias was not very happy about the one member of his friend group whom he disliked joining the team. Berwald was aware of it and was very glad to be pissing Mathias off.

* * *

Sadly, Thursday's tryouts didn't turn out to give Roma anyone quite good enough except for one person, and that had been kind of a stretch. However, he did keep a couple people on for possible backup players.

Feliciano had been a little nervous all throughout Friday, as it was the day he (among others) would try out, and he'd had to be constantly reassured by Ludwig, who was getting steadily more annoyed.

He really hadn't needed to be, though, as Ludwig thought later, because he could run extremely fast and definitely _knew_ how to play. His grandfather—ahem, the _coach_—gave him a congratulatory (and a little too hard) slap on the back when he was through and told him to stay on the bleachers and wait until the end.

Ludwig was told that same after his trials, which Feliciano had watched fervently, as he couldn't help but like watching his friend show off his skills. He was kind of jealous of his being so fit, too…. And the German wouldn't show it, but he was very proud of both himself and Feliciano for making it to the point where it was practically set in stone that they were going to be on the team, if not backups.

The last person to try out was Alfred, whom a lot of people were actually hoping _wouldn't_ be on the team because of how much everyone was annoyed by him, but no such luck. Coach Vargas was much too impressed with Alfred's natural strength to tell him to go at any rate—seriously, that kid was _inhumanly_ strong. The balls he'd kicked into the goalie net had nearly ripped it.

"Alright, that's everyone," Roma started once he was there was no one left but those he had told to stay and those he had told to come back on Friday, and he grabbed a clipboard from his table. "And I narrowed it down to the point where there won't be much room to reject anyone, so I can honestly tell you that you _should_ get your hopes up. The members of the 2011 Freshman Boys' Soccer team are: Ludwig Beilschmidt, Ivan Braginski, Kiku Honda, Alfred Jones, Toris Laurinaitis, Heracles Karpusi, Arthur Kirkland, Mathias Køhler, Berwald Oxenstierna—as goalie, and Feliciano Vargas—congratulations, Feli~!"

He paused for a minute to let the boys fist-pump for themselves or cheer or whatever they wanted to do. Arthur stuck his tongue out at Francis, Mathias put his hand up for a high-five that he once again had to force out of Lukas, Berwald gladly allowed himself to be hugged by Tino in congratulations, Toris sighed in disappointment, and Ivan just laughed childishly in celebration.

And, sitting at the bottom of the bleachers, Feliciano let out a sort of squeal and hopped up to kiss his friend on the cheek (at which there were a few "_Oooh_~"s from behind them that they ignored). Ludwig immediately got a little nervous, and he couldn't stop himself from blushing slightly or his shoulders from going stiff. But Feliciano didn't seem to notice.

Coach Vargas soon told them to calm down and listed the few people that would be backups, and he then started to explain how things would go down from now on:

"Be sure to be prepared for next week, because there's practice every day for the first week of the season—including Saturday. Really, all of you are _my only choices_, so I can't afford to have anyone slack off or bail on me! Feel free to bring snacks. I also suggest you practice during the weekend. Your initial twenty-dollar fee is due on Monday, and your jerseys should be made and ready sometime during next week. First match is next Tuesday—home game. Any questions?"

For once, there was actually a hand in the air relatively quickly—and it was Mathias's.

"Um—friends can still be around to watch the practices, right?"

"Yes, if they want to." (At that, Mathias pulled his arm back toward his stomach in a "_Yes!_" and the three of his friends who hadn't joined groaned.) "Any others? …No? Okay. You're all free to go, then, and I'll see you Monday afternoon~!"

_Well, that was successful,_ Roma thought as he walked over to his table and picked up his water bottle for a drink. _Sort of._ Watching all the boys leave, all of them together talking enough that the conglomerate noise was unintelligible from this distance, he honestly couldn't be so sure about this year's team. Sure, he had a few seriously skilled people like Berwald and Alfred, but he didn't think many of them were all too willing to work with others. Even Feliciano would surely need some work to make sure he could do everything correctly and have more endurance (and he was going to trust Ludwig to help him practice)…. And then there was the Kirkland kid, who always seemed angry and was just as much of a potty-mouth as Lovino, Kiku and Heracles, who hadn't seemed to talk to _anyone_ yet, and Mathias, who was just… well, he was a lot of things. One of them being _textbook_ narcissism.

Seeing Baldric meet up with Ludwig and Feliciano to take them home jerked him out of his thoughts for a moment, but Roma quickly shook his head and looked away. He didn't need the presence of that man in his mind getting him too angry to have his hopes for this year's team up.

_I suppose I'll just have to wait and see how they work, won't I?_

* * *

**I think I changed my mind about making RoGer mostly platonic. Oh well. And I hope no one minds the underage drinking. Roma's just the sort of person to let his grandsons have wine with dinner, y'know? **

**ALSO SUFIN YAY. I know I introduced the Nordics and hinted at SuFin before, but it's more official that the arc for that pairing has begun now. **

**One more thing, I would love it if you reviewed~! Per favore? Bitte? S'il vous plait? Te kudasai? Qing? Pozhaluista? _Pleeeeeeaaaase? _**


	8. Maturity Counts

**I am SO sorry for taking so long... You see, I was met with the unexpected event of getting a boyfriend, and spending time with him added with the distractions of the internet (and the other fic I started) ended up being a couple weeks. **

**Also, I wanted to reply to _CartedOff_'s review (who didn't log on, which is why I have to reply here): I think I remember someone saying that they were cosplaying as both Italy and Russia... And do you mean that it was actually a male cosplaying as regular Belarus, or that they were cosplaying as nyotalia Belarus? Because I don't think I saw any male!Belarus cosplayers as A-Kon...**

**As for the ship warnings, in this chapter will mainly be PruHun and Giripan.**

* * *

The walk to her house felt a lot shorter than it used to be.

But that was probably because the last time Gilbert had walked all the way to Elizaveta's place had been over three years ago, and he had been twelve then—and therefore a lot smaller. His legs hadn't been that long, and his strides had been shorter. It still felt strange, though, that he had grown so much in that time.

Really, a couple blocks used to seem like a journey across the entire city…. Although, it still was a sort of a journey. It had been hard for him just to decide to suck up his pride and go over to his old—and currently _still_, hopefully—friend's house. But Gilbert _had_ given himself the excuse that his brother was busy practicing soccer with Feliciano, and that his grandfather had locked himself in his room to work on principal-stuff—and so there was really nothing better to do. Except, possibly… actually _do_ his homework.

Alright, he guessed he just really wanted to see Elizaveta.

When he got there, there weren't any doubts in his mind that this was the right house—of course the _awesome_ him hadn't forgotten where she lived. However, he felt himself get slightly less awesome as he hesitated for a second to knock on her door. _Vait—vhy ze hell am I getting nervous? I'm too awesome to get nervous. It's not even like I'm about to ask her out on a date or anytsing…._

Frowning to himself, Gilbert rapped his knuckles against the door and leaned against the side of the house, waiting. It opened only about eight seconds later, and Elizaveta was standing on the other side, her hair slightly wet and looking like she'd recently gotten out of the shower, and she was wearing a sundress. Gilbert's first thought was that she looked _really _pretty like that—but then he got irrationally annoyed with both her and himself. He could understand wanting to wear less in this heat, but why did she have to wear a dress when she wasn't even in public? Had she really changed _that _much?

"Oh—I didn't expect you to come here, Gil…," she greeted in pleasant surprise, smiling at him.

For a second, he was just frozen there, as it took him a second to look away from the dress and remember how to form words. But when he did, he spoke just as obnoxiously as ever. "Yeah—vell… I didn't have your number in my cell phone, und I vanted to hang out vis you, so… I tsought ve could go out und kick a ball around or sometsing. Or go out und shoot at birds like ve used to—I've still got my airsoft gun—!"

"Thanks, but"—her smile faded almost too quickly, and the look on her face was apologetic—"I'm not really interested in shooting anymore…. You know, you're a little kid, and you don't really care about all the other forms of life—but now that we're teenagers, I think we were kind of cruel back then. And… I can't, anyway. I'm going somewhere with Roderich today."

At the mention of him, Gilbert automatically felt his stomach twist in anger and jealousy, and he involuntarily started grinding his teeth. He felt, though, like he could just say "Okay, anozzer time, zen," and leave—but he scowled instead and his mouth started acting without him:

"You're spending time vis Roddy again?"

The disgusted look on Gilbert's face got Elizaveta a bit angry, but she couldn't blame him for continuing to hate her boyfriend, so she held it back for the most part—though her voice was on edge when she spoke.

"I've told you to stop calling him that a thousand times, Gil."

"Vhat, und you tsink I'm going to stop? Ve both used to call him zat, und I still hate him!"

"I _thought_ that you might respect my wishes and put aside your stupid grudge against him, seeing as you're supposed to be my friend!" Elizaveta argued, her face growing hot and her voice getting louder, and she balled up her fists at her sides. "You can't do something as simple as that, just for me?"

"Vhy should I?—apparently you aren't villing to make any sacrifices for me! You're alvays spending time vis zat pretty-boy—!"

"Because he's my _boyfriend_! And I can do whatever the hell I want, I don't have to—"

"—Spend time vis _me_?" Gilbert practically snarled in her face, his face twisted up in worse anger than he'd had for a long while. "Yeah, you don't _have_ to do zat, if you vant to be a selfish—" He cut himself off when he realized what he was about to call her and momentarily paused, unable to believe that he'd even thought of stooping that low. And something flashed in Elizaveta's eyes, showing that she knew it as well, but she didn't say anything. "I'm much more awesome zan _him_, so I don't see vhy you're choosing him over me!"

Neither of them were sure whether this was about who she chose to spend her time with or the nature of their relationship in general anymore. Elizaveta just stared at him, brow furrowed in pain and jaw opening and closing in confusion for a few seconds before she just said, he voice shaking somewhat,

"Not everything is about you, Gilbert!"

And she slammed the door in his face.

He remained standing there for a good three more seconds, staring at the door, before he came to terms with the fact that it wasn't going to open again. Half of him was going, _What ze hell? Did she _really_ just do zat?_, and the other was slowly sinking into a horrible sort of depression. All he'd wanted to do was hang out with his friend, whom he now felt pretty sure that he was in love with, and he had to be an idiot and make her angry and make it unlikely she would want to hang out with him anytime in the near future, either.

His lip curling and his face falling into a scowl, Gilbert stuffed his hands almost violently into his pockets, turned around, and began walking away back down the street. Spotting a rock, he began to kick it as he walked, really just needing something to hit.

"_Stupid—verdammt—Roddy…,_" he muttered under his breath, punctuating each word with a kick. He had yet to officially execute his plan to make Elizaveta see that he was better than her stupid boyfriend, as he hadn't been able to think of anything, so he'd had to bare through two weeks of him and his enemy being on either side of Liz and acting as though the other wasn't there, and then eventually ending up fighting one another. He was pretty sure that he'd technically started that plan just a couple minutes ago, though. And doing it like that certainly hadn't been a good idea.

Not that he'd meant to. It had just come out because Gilbert couldn't _help_ but be so angry and fraught with jealousy… it just wasn't fair. If he hadn't left to Germany three years ago, this wouldn't have happened.

Half of him wanted to blame everyone and everything _but_ himself, but the other half was beating himself up and screaming at him that it was all his own stupidity and stubbornness at fault. Only he wanted to deny the second half completely.

Interrupting the silence and the somewhat morose feeling that was thickening the air, the little yellow bird on his shoulder let out a loud chirp. He took it as the start of a conversation, as he had somehow convinced himself that he could understand his pet's language.

"Looks like it's just you and me for today, Gilbird…," he sighed bitterly, thinking of how he suddenly wished his other two friends weren't busy. Antonio was never available on Sundays because his family was really religious and pretty much had their Catholic stuff going on all day, and he had already checked Francis's house—he was with that stupid Arthur kid, helping him with his personal soccer practice.

Sighing, Gilbert came to terms with the fact that he would be alone today, though he figured that he was sort of used to it.

* * *

The first day of soccer practice began with Lukas slapping Mathias very hard in the face for complaining about how "he wouldn't get to see how good his butt looked in soccer shorts" and quite a few people laughing at him—including Berwald, though he just smirked a little. Mathias had still forced the rest of his friends to come and watch his practice everyday, and they all thought it was unfair but did as he said, anyway.

Berwald couldn't help but be a little glad that Tino would be watching all of his practices, though. The thought made his chest get a little warmer.

"Alright, according to your guys' forms," Coach Vargas started to say loudly once everyone was standing around on the field, "most of you haven't actually played much sports before, so you might not know how it works—but just so you know, the very first day of practice doesn't need to be super-serious. We _will_ be practicing, obviously, but I sort of want you guys to use this day to get to know each other if you don't already. It'll be better if we're all like one huge family, so it's not just a team of ten strangers. I'll give you guys… ten minutes to talk or something."

Roma, the outgoing and friendly sort of man he was, didn't really understand that the majority of people, especially teenagers, found it awkward when they were forced to socialize. So he just went and sat down as his table, not really paying the kids much attention.

There were a few people who liked the idea, but most of them just stood there awkwardly for a moment. Kiku and Arthur both temporarily froze where they stood, suddenly panicking a little and wanting nothing less than to interact with anyone else. They both quickly and separately decided that there was nothing that would make them decide to try to make new friends, so those two were already moving slightly outside the group of people, folding their arms and waiting for the ten minutes to be over.

"Is he really… going to have us do zis?" muttered Ludwig under his breath, backing away from everyone else a little bit and pulling his friend with him. There were times when he really respected Feliciano's grandfather, but the man could often be more annoying than a child….

He did think that making more friends might have been useful, but he figured Feliciano was enough. Besides, he knew that a lot of the others used to bully him when they were younger, and he couldn't help but hold a grudge despite the fact he hadn't remembered much of it on his own. But even if he didn't remember it, he knew that they would. And it would be rather awkward at the very least.

Feliciano actually rather liked the idea, though, and he was mostly oblivious to the fact that Ludwig seemed apprehensive about it. Most of the other people on the team he very easily recognized and had talked to several times in the past (he talked to pretty much everyone), but there was one boy whom he didn't know very well and who looked like he didn't have many (or any) friends to begin with—and his friendliness instinct automatically kicked in. Without thinking, he grabbed Ludwig's hand and pulled him over to the edge of the small crowd.

Strangely enough, Kiku had been thinking that it would probably be the most practical thing to try to get to know at least one other person on the team when he was approached and forced to turn his attention back to the real world.

"Hey, I'm Feliciano—you're in our Cooking class, right?"

Kiku, somewhat surprised, was silent for a couple seconds and just stared, and Ludwig frowned down at his friend, both because he'd been pulled into an uncomfortable situation and because he was still holding his hand. He tried to work his hand out of Feliciano's grip, not wanting to start getting… _those_ feelings in public.

"Um… yes," Kiku said slowly, feeling awkward and unsure how to respond. He hadn't expected anyone to actually try to talk to him. "I'm in your English class, too. I'm… Kiku."

Not at all put off by the other boy's obvious social awkwardness (or possibly just too dense to see it), Feliciano put out a hand and said shamelessly, "Do you want to be friends? You and me and Ludwig"—he patted his friend's arm—"could be our own little trio~!"

"_Or_," Ludwig started before either or them could say anything, really stressing the word as he looked sharply from Feliciano to Kiku, "you could just… be a normal friend. It doesn't matter. You don't have to." He was annoyed with his friend for being so brazen about that and saying something that might make the kid feel obligated to say yes. And he could tell that they were both feeling just as awkward. But… he did sort of secretly like the idea of perhaps having another friend.

Staring at Feliciano's hand, Kiku felt himself starting to have a mini-panic attack. He didn't like touching people, and so he was extremely hesitant about shaking hands with the other boy, just as he was about being friends with them. Although… as annoyingly friendly as he could see he was, Feliciano seemed very nice—and the other boy, Ludwig, was calm and actually seemed like the sort of person he could get along with. Kiku had never really had what could be defined as "friends" before, but he supposed that, with his being on the soccer team, that was bound to happen sooner or later. So he made the next decision against his better judgment.

"I… yes, we can be friends," agreed Kiku in an almost professional tone. He took Feliciano's offered hand in what he intended to be a single, firm shake—but he got an extended, overly friendly and personal two-handed handshake instead. Panicking again, he made a small noise of discomfort and pulled his hand back.

Apparently not getting the hint, Feliciano then grinned and but his arms around both Ludwig's and Kiku's shoulders, saying, "Great! I'm sure—"

But then Kiku took a large and abrupt step back and away from Feliciano, frowning and almost shaking with how uncomfortable he felt.

"Ah—please… never do that again," he said, noticing that the other boy looked confused. Ludwig sighed internally and tried to tell his friend not to be so inconsiderate.

Meanwhile, amongst the rest of the soccer team, everyone was trying to avoid Ivan, Berwald, and Mathias. Mostly because they were huge and intimidating—and Mathias was also obnoxious and everyone knew it. That didn't leave many other people except for Toris, whom Ivan was holding possessively to his side and keeping from moving around (but he was fine with that, as he was staring at Natalya in the bleachers and she was glaring back at him), Heracles, who was just staring dreamily up at the clouds, and Alfred… who wanted to make friends with everyone.

Unfortunately for him, pretty much everyone was avoiding him, too. As friendly as he was, he was also rather conceited (though he didn't seem to be aware of that) and rude and childish and a bit stupid at times. There was a reason he didn't have any close friends or even people who could stand talking to him for an extended period of time.

It wasn't as though he really needed to get to know anyone like Coach Vargas had told them to do, anyway, since everyone already knew him. Except, of course, for that new Russian guy, but he didn't want to get too near him more than anyone else did.

And so Alfred was left pacing back and forth, trying not to feel sorry for himself yet at the same time not consciously realizing that there was anything about him to feel sorry about—until he thought of one person. Looking up, he adjusted his glasses and glanced over to Arthur Kirkland, who was standing a little away from everyone and looking as bitter as ever. For the past few years, he'd normally avoided looking at or thinking about that guy at all, but now that they were going to be on the soccer team together, he couldn't help but feel kind of sad about the way their friendship had ended and how they had pretty much severed all ties.

Arthur had probably been his only real friend ever (besides Matthew, but he was his twin, so he couldn't count), and he had even been kind of like a big brother, but that friendship had been painfully short and, after that huge fight, they had pretty much tried to pretend that the other didn't exist. Or at least that's what he'd done. He didn't know about Arthur; he might have hated his guts now. There was no way to know.

But, as Alfred was hit with some strange wave of prudence, he figured that it wouldn't do good for the team if he and Arthur were either constantly fighting or ignoring each other. It wouldn't do good for anyone if there were any two people in the team who didn't get along. And he didn't want to bring the team down, so he decided that he ought to make amends or at least fix something before they started their first practice.

Over where he was standing, Arthur was staring at the grass and thinking similarly. He was thoroughly annoyed that Alfred had to be on the team with him, which would mean forced interaction with that brat. But… they were in highschool now, weren't they? So they were practically adults. Still, Arthur had pretty much been abandoned, and Alfred was still _bloody_ annoying, and they hadn't even spoken to each other at all in about four years, and—

"Hey, Arthur."

_What?_ In confusion and alarm, he looked up from the grass to see a pair of glasses on an uncharacteristically serious face and a lock of hair that somehow stood straight up where it was parted. Arthur narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, too shocked to even say something like "What do you want?"

When it remained silent between them, Alfred just took a deep breath, not wanting to make this last longer than it had to, and went on, "Listen, I know we're kind of enemies or not-friends or maybe you hate me—or whatever, but I think it's time we get over it so we can at least get along during the soccer season, because I'm not going to quit and I don't want you to quit and force us to use a backup who's not as good as you. So… we don't have to be friends, but can we be equals?"

Alfred gave him an awkward sort of hopeful look, trying not to look him directly in the eye but also trying not to be too impersonal.

Okay, and now Arthur was even more confused. _That_ guy was the one who wanted to put their differences aside. But of course it was because of his hero-complex, wasn't it?

"Oh bloody _hell_ no, _I'm_ supposed to be the mature one, not you!" was surprisingly, even to himself, the first thing to come out of his mouth. It was just like him to get angry even about something like this, Alfred figured, laughing a little—at which Arthur scowled. "Nevermind, I take that back. You're not being mature at all."

"Hey, maybe it'll be _mature_ of you to forgive me, wouldn't it?" he said in mock-realization, grinning. "Then we'll be even, and you can have your way just like it always has to be with you—"

"You—you can shut up about that!" said Arthur, getting angrier at the mention of the reason they had started fighting in the first place. Or, at least—the reason Alfred had started fighting with _him_. "But… yes, I suppose I can… forgive you," he added, folding his arms and grumbling. "Only for the team, though. Not for you."

Not entirely to his surprise, Alfred just smirked and said, "That's all I wanted to hear, Artie." As he walked away, he gave a small salute-like gesture.

Arthur hardly had time to get annoyed about being called that stupid nickname or try to comprehend what had just happened before Coach Vargas, completely unaware that his plan hadn't been that effective, told them that the time was up and that they were going to start the official practice now.

* * *

For someone who generally spent most of their time inside and hardly ever exercised, Kiku was strangely not as exhausted as he should have been after practices. He blamed it on the martial arts classes he'd taken a couple years before.

Halfway through the week, he was thinking that he actually rather liked being on the team, however much he wished he had as much time for his fandoms as he used to. There simply weren't enough hours in the day, now that there was school, soccer, and homework. He figured he'd have to hardly eat and get less sleep if he wanted to watch anime even nearly as much as usual.

But it was, altogether, nice to be a part of something. He really couldn't explain why, though, since he normally disliked being around any people at all. Feliciano and Ludwig were nice enough, and he even found himself legitimately liking them as friends. And all of this after only three days of practice.

It was a good thing that practices were only all-week for the first week, Kiku mused as he walked away from the soccer field on Wednesday afternoon. Once he reached the edge of the school property, he turned in the direction of his house, and he could feel his thighs burning slightly from all the running and kicking. He figured that at least he would be able to look forward to getting home and sitting down and drinking some water….

Kiku didn't get very far until he felt something soft brush against his leg, and he almost jumped back in alarm before he stopped and looked down to see a gray and black-striped cat sliding in between his legs and briefly wrapping its tail around them each time. At once, his shoulders slumped, and a soft sort of look grew upon his face as he looked down at the cat.

_Aw… where did you come from?_ Kiku thought, smiling and bending down to pet the cat, rubbing his hand gently down the fur from its head to the end of its body—but stopping there, since he knew cats generally didn't like to be touched on their tails. He'd always loved cats, and for some reason the adorable creatures usually liked him in return. There wasn't any collar around its neck, so he figured it was probably a stray. It was funny, though, that this one had happened to be near the school….

As he scratched around its ears, the cat lowered its head and purred. Figuring that it trusted him, and in spite of the fact that there was no guarantee it was free from fleas or any other disease, Kiku decided to put his hand under the cat's middle and pick it up. Apparently very docile, it didn't mind. He'd have liked to take it home and keep as a pet if he wasn't sure that his mom would either say no or tell him that he'd have full responsibility for it—which would have meant that he'd have even less time to do what he wanted.

Unexpectedly, but not quite alarmingly, a hand that didn't belong to him reached out to pet the cat in his arms. Slightly surprised, Kiku moved his eyes from the hand up to the tanned arm it was a part of and then up to the face it belonged to.

It was Heracles, and his expression as he continued to pet the cat—and even as he looked up and acknowledged Kiku—was one of utter calmness, as usual. Though it was pretty much what his face always looked like whenever he saw him, it still amazed Kiku that one could even look that calm. He almost found himself staring, but then managed to stop himself.

"Sorry, I just really like cats," said Heracles, smiling softly at him. Kiku could tell that he was genuinely apologizing, as he must have realized that this could be awkward or considered rude. And because of that, it wasn't either of those.

"It's alright," he replied, almost surprised at himself for being so agreeable, and Heracles smiled a little wider in acknowledgment.

"Did she just come right up to you?" he asked, his calm tone tinged with curiosity.

"Actually, yes… but how do you know it's a she?"

Without saying anything at first, Heracles carefully moved his hand downward on the cat's stomach and pushed aside some fur to get a better view. "…Yeah, it's a she."

Kiku actually found it difficult not to laugh just a bit, and his effort to keep it in along with the actual, small giggles made his body shake uncontrollably. The movement wasn't very nice to the cat, apparently, because it—_she_—gave a loud mewl and twisted her body in his arms. Not wanting to hurt her, he bent down and let her slide out of his arms onto the ground rather than just dropping her. The cat seemed to be regaining its balance before it trotted away.

It was then that he realized he had nothing to say, but for some reason it didn't feel as awkward as it should have. With Heracles, it seemed, the silence was nice and to be expected.

"Cats tend to hang around me a lot," said Heracles quietly enough that he might have been muttering, but somehow very clearly. "I don't know why. But there's a lot of strays around my house…."

Kiku could guess why—probably because the boy just gave off that calm, sleepy air that would make cats trust him.

"Ah, speaking of which, I should probably be getting home…." Kiku's tone was a bit apologetic, as he didn't want to be rude—and he actually didn't want to stop talking to him.

"I walk home, too… would you mind if I walked with you?"

Strangely enough, he didn't. "Oh—sure," he said, nodding and starting to walk. Heracles started after him and got to his side.

"How far away is your house?" he asked. "Mine's over there"—and he pointed to the far left from where they were walking.

Kiku glanced that way for a second and said, "It's a bit further, and more the direction we're walking now. But… we can part ways halfway to your house?"

"Hm. Sure." Heracles stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled, taking in a deep, relaxing breath.

While they walked, there were the occasional minutes of silence, but otherwise they did a lot of talking. Kiku was surprised, for probably the third since leaving school, to find that he really didn't mind talking and even having answering relatively personal questions. They did ask a lot of questions about each other, what classes they had besides Geometry, what they liked to do…. And neither of them said it directly, but it seemed to be silently established that they had become friends the moment Heracles had reached out to pet the cat, and they were now getting that friendship on track by learning things about each other.

About twenty minutes later, they both found theirselves in front of Kiku's house.

"Huh," Heracles said, not sounding at all bothered by it. "I think I lost track of what I was doing and ended up walking all the way here with you."

"Ah, I'm sorry…. I didn't mean to make you have to walk more." Kiku stopped in his tracks and frowned a little, annoyed with himself.

"It's okay, I don't mind. And I'm sure I can get home from here." Heracles checked what street they were on and looked back to him with a slight smile. "…You know, I don't think I've heard you talk very much before today."

"I don't think I've heard you talk much before today, either," Kiku returned, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he adjusted his grip on his backpack's strap.

Giving a small laugh, Heracles adjusted his own strap and looked behind him for a second as he slowly started to walk backwards. "Well… see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," he agreed.

Kiku walked up the empty driveway and into his house, only vaguely aware but also glad that Heracles was now his friend.

And, as he walked to his own house, Heracles was thinking that, after a single conversation (however long it was), he already liked Kiku more than he ever liked his ex-girlfriend.

* * *

**And the Giripan arc has begun! They are just too cuuute... And just so you know, any USUK in this story will be strictly platonic. I just wanted to say that just in case anyone thought the moment between Alfred and Arthur seemed romantic and either got their hopes up or got scared.**

**Anyway, reviews are greatly appreciated, and I'll try my best to update as soon as I can (and not procrastinate this time)!**


	9. Operation in Play

**I'd profusely apologize for taking so long, but I feel like that's gotten repetitive. So I'll just tell you that this chapter is extra-long, which should be a sufficient recompense. **

**Also, as a warning, just be ready for a good smattering of LietPol, FrUK, and CanUkr, as well as a lot of hints of other pairings.**

* * *

If there ever was a time in his life when Feliks really did wish he was a girl, it was now. Because—contrary to what a lot of people seemed to think—he did enjoy being a boy. Just because he liked some girly things and acted feminine a lot of the time didn't mean he wanted to be a girl…. Gender roles had always confused him, anyway.

But the reason he wished he was female at the moment was sitting far across the lunchroom from him, eating with a large Russian whom Feliks could now honestly say he hated.

After Toris had been _taken away_ from him and forbidden from sitting with anyone but Ivan during lunch, Feliks had decided that he wasn't just going to sit alone for the rest of the year and instead started sitting with a couple of his friends from his Fashion Design class. Meanwhile, over the past couple of weeks, he'd noticed that his best friend was getting more and more interested in that Natalya girl. If it wasn't enough that he was constantly staring and smiling at her when he was near her, Toris even mentioned her relatively often at home. And Feliks _really_ wasn't liking it.

The fact that Toris was suddenly so enamored with that girl already had him feeling so frustratingly jealous, but _why Ivan's psycho-bitch sister out of all people?_ Feliks just couldn't understand. Nothing he'd said so far had convinced Toris that Natalya clearly didn't like him back and that she was dangerous—and people said that _he_ was the dumb one….

"Hey Feliks, you okay?"

He felt a brief grab of his shoulder along with that voice snap him out of his own thoughts and looked over to see Elizaveta looking somewhat worriedly at him.

"What—yeah, I'm like, totally fine," he tried to assure her, though he wasn't very good at sounding convincing—not that he was all that determined to lie, anyway. And Elizaveta wasn't stupid, so she wasn't deterred.

"Are you sure?" she persisted, frowning more. "You looked like you were staring at something over there…." Gesturing to the other side of the lunchroom, she waited for an answer.

Sighing in easy defeat, Feliks pushed his lunch tray a little away from him and leaned the side of his face on his hand. "It's my friend, Toris. A couple weeks ago, that Ivan guy, like, forced him to be friends with him…. So he has to sit over there and I can't talk to him—which is totally whack and like, unfair!—but Ivan's a huge dude, y'know…."

"Huh?" Yekaterina, who also sat with them, was suddenly paying more attention. "Oh—I think Ivan told me about that…. He's my brother," she added in her heavy accent, not sure whether or not they knew. "I didn't know Toris vos your friend, though…. I'm sorry."

Feliks caught her apologetic look and just pursed his lips, upset about his friend having to sit so far away. He'd known Yekaterina and Ivan were related (through adoption, anyway), but she was a sweet girl and nothing like him. So he hadn't thought much of it.

"Do you like, actually _like_ your brother?" he asked bluntly, though he did try to refrain from calling him "that jerk." He really couldn't see how they would get along….

Yekaterina glanced behind her shoulder for a moment, smiling. "Of course I do—vy voodn't I?" she said, genuinely unaware of what everyone else would call _Ivan's creepy tendencies_, but not offended at all. "He's sweet, and he's my little brother…. He vos actually really happy vhen he got friends—"

"Hold up—he's your _little _brother?" Feliks interjected, looking in between Yekaterina's face and Ivan's table. Elizaveta was looking rather confused as well, and she spoke before Feliks could say anything else:

"What? By how much younger?—I know you're not related, but he's… well, _huge_." Being the one sophomore at the table, she didn't know many people in the grade below her personally, but she knew enough about those she hung around with. And Yekaterina had quickly become her friend (she'd really needed one, after coming from Russia and not knowing anyone) at the start of the year; except she'd never mentioned how old she was….

"Heh, yes, I know…," Yekaterina laughed, having to put a hand to her chest to stop it from bouncing too much—and _Bog __chert poberi_, that was annoying. "He's vun year younger. Back in Russia, ve all got put into the same—uh… year. Grade." She had to think for a second to remember what the American term for it was. "They veren't really tracking our ages in the orphanages…. None of us even know ven our actual birthdays are."

At this point, Elizaveta and Feliks were just staring at her, feeling sorry but awkward and unsure of what to say. It was even stranger that Yekaterina seemed not to think of it as something sad or even all that negative, as she still looked rather cheerful and casual about it as she went on eating her lunch. Sharing a look with the girl sitting next to him, Feliks decided to abandon the subject of Ivan.

"So, I guess you two just like, forgot that we were talking about me, here," he said dully, huffing slightly.

"What?—Oh, _no_, we didn't!" Elizaveta assured him hurriedly, feeling a little bad. "Tell us about your friend." She smiled, ready to be a motherly source of comfort for her friend. The other girl looked up as well.

"Well…," started Feliks, not so sure what he wanted to say now that they were actually paying attention to him. He'd always liked having attention, but he was also never very good at it. "Toris like, obviously doesn't like Ivan, but he keeps staring at Natalya and he's already got _such_ a huge freaking crush on her and he won't shut his stupid mouth about her…. And hell, _she's_ like, the scary one—not Ivan…."

His frown deepened further until he was pushed down into the depths of depression and just started staring at Ivan's table again. From what he could see, Toris was smiling, probably trying to flirt with Natalya, and she was holding tightly onto her brother's arm. _Hmph._

"Aw… wait, are you jealous?" Elizaveta asked, both rather sorry for him and also curious. The way he was talking and acting made it sound like he was more than just annoyed.

Feliks twisted his face into a sort of pout and didn't say anything for a couple seconds. "…Yeah, duh," he admitted, stabbing his plastic fork repeatedly into some gross school macaroni that he didn't plan on eating anyway.

"Like, romantically? Do you like him that way?" she pressed, needing to make sure.

He honestly didn't see how that question could be a big deal at all, so he didn't hesitate or give her a look like some people might have. "Yeah, and I, like, _have_ since we were little kids! I'm totally sure he likes me too, but right now he's just being… stupid…."

Yekaterina might have said something just then if she wasn't too busy looking oddly at the girl across from her—the reason for which was that Elizaveta's face was slowly turning manic as she balled up her hands in front of her face in excitement and bent backward slowly and almost dangerous-looking—like a pebble in a slingshot.

Only when she bounced back up did Feliks notice her excitement and put on a somewhat questioning face.

"_Ooh—yes, I've always wanted to do this!_" Elizaveta practically squealed to herself before looking to Feliks, slamming her hand down on the table once and saying excitedly, "Okay, I'm going to help get you guys together."

"Huh?" Feliks straightened up and faced her at once. "Really? But I haven't like, even—"

"_Trust me_, I can do it! Well—I've never done it before, but this is my chance to finally be a matchmaker!" Clasping her hands together in eagerness, she looked around to Ivan and Toris's table. "Which one is he?"

"The one with long brown hair."

"Right. I'm sure he likes you back, hun—he's obviously going through a crisis with his sexuality right now or something. Our real problem is Natalya being an unintentional cockblock and the target of Toris's affections that he only has because he's confused about being gay." _Because everyone is gay, no exceptions,_ she thought but somehow had the tact not to say it out loud.

Meanwhile, they both seemed to have forgotten that the sister of the psycho-Russians they were talking about was still there. And it wasn't that she felt the offense for her adoptive siblings, but she just had a few things to say. The problem with that was that she was generally quiet and found it a little hard to speak up at first.

"I am thinking that you von't haff to vorry…," she told him, leaning over slightly to get into their range of sight. "Natalya olvays is saying that she hates Toris…. She likes Ivan much better." Yekaterina then cringed slightly, thinking of how overbearing and obsessive her younger sister could be.

"Yeah, I don't think that like, _matters_ to Toris," said Feliks bitterly, frowning again.

"Vell… maybe it vood be good for Natalya to like Toris back so she von't be trying to be vith Ivan all the—"

"But this is for the sake of _love_, Yekaterina!" Elizaveta said over her, suddenly looking manic again. _Wonderful, gay love!_ "If Toris stays around your brother, then what is Feliks supposed to do?"

"Vell, I—"

"You're going to help us, right?"

_Hn._ It looked like she didn't really have a choice. Not that Yekaterina was really all that against it…. She just cared about her brother and worried for his safety. But she did care about her friends too, however recently she'd gotten them, and she didn't want Feliks to have to be sad because of his best friend.

"I… _da_, I'll help," she agreed, smiling at them and starting to lean forward before she remembered that her too-large chest wouldn't allow her to.

"Great!" Her eyes shining over-dramatically, Elizaveta turned back to Feliks and gave him a hearty, reassuring shoulder-grab. "We are _so_ going to get you your man back, no matter what it takes!"

The look on her face was crazily determined, and Feliks liked it. Bouncing in his seat slightly and giving her a quick hug, he said, "Ah, I totally love you guys!"

Elizaveta was already forming a plan in her head and giggling inwardly, thinking, _Oh, I am so definitely going to post on Tumblr about this._

* * *

"Alright, this shouldn't be too hard…. It's just heating up sauce; I don't think I could mess _this_ up."

"_Mon dieu_, don't say zat—you'll jinx it!"

Francis, genuinely anxious, looked between Arthur and the pot on the stove, which had only just begun to heat. Mr. (or, as Arthur kept calling him because of Harry Potter, _Professor_) Wang had finally had them start their first cooking project, and this week's was spaghetti (which Feliciano was rather excited about). Basically seeing how well they could follow simple directions, as he'd said, so it wasn't exactly a gourmet meal. Not that much more complicated than following directions off a box to make macaroni and cheese.

But that didn't mean it was impossible for Arthur to screw up, because when it came to cooking, there was _nothing_ he couldn't screw up. Francis was almost afraid to be his partner in this, but he'd have been even more afraid if anyone else had partnered with him—both for the person unlucky enough to have to deal with him, and for Arthur, whom he didn't trust to be controlled by anyone else.

It was a relatively small town they lived in, which made it a small school, and so the class wasn't too big. Only ten people. That meant five groups, and two people to a group—and surprisingly, Mr. Wang hadn't been too strict to not let them pick their own partners. Of course Feliciano and Ludwig had immediately picked each other, and no one was surprised about Francis and Arthur; no one else would have gone with the grumpy British kid, anyway. Natalya hadn't given Ivan a choice, and then Kiku had gone with Minahil and Li Xiao with Roderich simply because they were the only ones left.

At the moment, it was about twenty minutes into class and Francis had already put the tomatoes and peppers and whatnot together in the blender to make the sauce, as they had agreed that he would do that and Arthur would just start off easy, by just heating it up and adding what little still needed to be added.

At Francis's (very serious) comment, Arthur scowled. "Oh, who's believing in curses now? Don't be so paranoid, Frog, it's not like I could blow up the whole classroom…."

"Ah, don't make it worse…," he moaned through his teeth, really wishing that he would quit it.

Arthur harrumphed and turned back to face the stove and look inside the pot before stirring it with the wooden spoon in his hand. "Don't get your knickers in a twist; I've _got_ it. Now you just start boiling the water for the noodles or whatever and _let me do it_."

Clucking his tongue, Francis pursed his lips and smirked slightly, finding his friend's determination childlike and therefore kind of funny. "Hn, fine," he said, grabbing the pot sitting on the counter and taking the few steps toward the sink. "But you _did_ say yourself zat you took zis class to learn to cook, so if you need 'elp—"

"—I highly doubt I'll need help just stirring—!"

"—zen I'm going to give it to you whezzer you want it or not, because I know you won't ask for it and I don't feel like dying today."

Arthur just scowled again at the smug tone in that voice and muttered profanities to himself as Francis came back over with the pot half-full of water and set it on the stove.

The next couple minutes or so were silent, but it was pretty much impossible for those two to be in such close range and remain quiet or even peaceful for too long, so the time was punctuated with random conversation that quickly escalated to more insults and bickering. Francis noticed that Arthur's apron was loose, so he tightened it, and the other retaliated by hitting him. And later, Arthur got angry at Francis for not giving him enough space in front of the stove, and so the rest of the class peeked over their own counters to watch them bump hips and try to push each other out of the way until Mr. Wang finally had to tell them to stop or they would be risking spilling stuff.

"Well look, now you've gotten us in trouble," Francis practically spat, giving Arthur a somewhat angry, sidelong glance.

"Hn, does a day go by when we don't get in trouble?"

Neither of them could help but smirk and laugh for a good ten seconds. Then it was back to watching their pots and stirring when it was needed. Until, eventually—

"Um, Arthur—" Francis nudged the other boy's arm and leaned over slightly, as a worry had just come to mind. "I tsink the sauce 'as probably been boiling too long—_look_, it's bubbling."

His eyebrows knitting together, Arthur leaned over the pot to look down into it. It was indeed bubbling, but he was fairly sure it was supposed to get to more intense bubbles before he—

And as though on cue, one of the bubbles popped, sending scalding-hot sauce straight up to land on his cheek, which his hand immediately flew to as he stepped back and hissed "Ah!" in pain.

Francis almost had to resist the urge to laugh because of the irony, but he quickly decided that it wasn't the best for him to laugh right now. "_Dieu_—you okay, _mon ami_?"

He quickly stepped back as well and made to try to help him, but Arthur slapped his hands away just as quickly and righted himself within a second or so; he wasn't going to let his pain show, God-bloody-dammit. "I'm fine," he growled, removing his hand from his face and wiping the sauce off in the process. "And don't call me that."

But there was still a small splattering of sauce left on his cheek, which Francis noticed and at once stepped closer again to end down and lick off. Arthur was momentarily stunned and trying to ignore the very sudden and very hard pounding in his chest. That was really no use, though, since he had already turned a mild shade of red in shock and anger and other things. Again, he brought his hand to his face.

"What the _bloody hell_—did you just _lick my face_?" he demanded, glaring at him and not noticing his voice get slightly more high-pitched. The groups on either side of them were watching them almost excitedly. These fights were always fun to watch. "Pervert!"

First moving to turn the stovetop that the sauce was on to a lower temperature so that the same thing wouldn't happen again, Francis smirked at him and laughed slightly. "Onhonhon, but zair was still sauce on it—"

"Yeah, well, you could have just bloody told me…," grumbled Arthur, now wiping saliva off his cheek. _But that's not something you would do, is it?_

"Hey, no public displays of affection, guys," said a voice from behind them, which they quickly recognized to be Li Xiao, leaning over the edge of the counter that separated their small kitchens. Arthur glared at him and Francis gave him a look (and even Roderich looked like he was doing a mental face-palm) as he sniggered and leaned back again.

* * *

Soccer really was _the_ sport of the school. A good number of people besides just friends and family of the players had come to see the first match of the season (it was a home game, though, so it wasn't like they had to go far), and they were all rather enthusiastic about it, too.

Coach Vargas was having Vash Zwingli, a sophomore, handle the admission booth—two dollars a ticket, as he was on the Student Council as the treasurer. And that was pretty much the only worthwhile thing the treasurer ever got to do. Yeah, it… really sucked to be on Student Council.

Meanwhile, all the members of the team were waiting at the base of the bleachers to the left of the entrance while people bought their tickets and found a seat, and when the other school's team arrived (which should have been any minute now), they were to sit on the other side. A few of them were just sitting and waiting boredly, but most of them were at least a bit nervous, drinking more water than they needed to and trying to mentally prepare themselves.

Ivan's sisters were both already there, and Natalya had given him a huge kiss along with her hopes for him to play well before going off to a random seat on the bleachers—anywhere that Yekaterina wasn't. And he was almost more embarrassed that the other members of the team had had to see that than anything else.

As time passed, more people came at an exponentially increasing rate. When Matthew arrived (without their mother, since she had to work), he gave Alfred a non-committal wave before finding a seat. Not that anyone really noticed he was there, anyway. Meanwhile, with Mathias being Mathias, he wanted all his friends (who, besides Tino, had come only because he'd forced them) to hang around him until the match started, so they were all sitting behind the team.

When Feliks got there, it was no surprise (however depressing and frustrating to him) that Ivan put a possessive arm around Toris before he could even attempt to go give him a hug or anything. _Whatevs, we only started the plan like, yesterday…,_ he thought to reassure himself as he gave a slight huff and stepped up the bleachers.

The bleachers were close to getting relatively full once Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert showed up together, only to immediately add to the noise of chatter.

"Hey, Lud!" Gilbert called out as he did a slow-jog over to his younger brother, who was sitting and talking with Feliciano. Until he approached, that is. "My little bruder's all grown up now, eh?"

Ludwig raised an eyebrow at being addressed by that loathsome shortening of his name and at Gilbert's comment, looking away, for the moment, from Feliciano. "…It's just soccer."

Undeterred, Gilbert latched a firm hand onto his brother's shoulder. "_Ja_, but highschool is like var, _mein bruder_, und zis is ze battlefield!" He used his other arm to extravagantly gesture to the whole soccer field, and then felt a hand on his own shoulder.

"Gilbert, _amigo_, I think you're getting in your overly-dramatic mood again," said Antonio, laughing a little. "Come on, let's just go sit down."

While the albino reluctantly agreed and told Ludwig that their grandfather was supposed to be there soon, Francis walked over to Arthur, who was standing—and whom he was pretty much here for besides the fact that his other two friends had wanted to come.

"'Ey, Arthur, _bonne chance_," he told him, lightly hitting him on the arm and making him turn around. Still in a bit of a bad mood from the sauce incident from earlier, he merely narrows his eyes for a few seconds while Francis grinned at him.

"Er…." Because of French class, he actually knew what it meant, but he hadn't expected it and had never been good with dealing handling compliments (or anything positive, really, especially from _him_), and so he couldn't help but hesitate. "Thanks…?"

"Because you'll definitely need it, onhon—"

"Oh, shut up, git!" it made a lot more sense with that comment from Francis, and Arthur punched him lightly in the chest as he walked away to follow his friends, ignoring the sniggers of others around him.

Within a couple minutes, the van carrying the boys from the other school's team showed up, and they all glared at the home team as they walked in. Noticing them, pretty much everyone but Feliciano and Toris glared back, warily watching them cross the field.

"Oh, I can't vait to pound their faces into dust," Ivan said to himself, smiling and unaware of suddenly the rest of the team inching away from him and staring.

Coming into the field from his office soon afterward, Roma looked between the two teams. "Alright, you guys all need to be ready in no more than five minutes, 'cause that's when it starts. And—don't get nervous, okay? You are all great, and this is only the first game. Just make sure you win!"

At the end of his rather short pep-talk and his grin, Mathias and Alfred let out a simultaneous whoop and fist-pumped once, but the rest of them remained mostly silent.

"Uh… aren't you supposed to tell us to do our best?" asked Toris, raising his hand slightly out of habit.

Roma just shrugged it off and waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, that too. Now remember, even though you get a break, it's probably better to pee now while you can."

He then moved away to go take care of something, leaving most of them thinking, _Is that… really all the advice he's going to give us?_ and then Alfred and Heracles to actually get up to hurry over to the bathrooms.

When there was less than a minute left and it was clear that the other team's coach was giving them a hurried, last-minute pep talk, everyone was standing up and waiting for Coach Vargas to tell them to go out there. As well as a few others, Feliciano was anxiously bouncing where he stood—but he was also whispering to himself, "_Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God_…."

He clearly wasn't doing it quietly enough, though, because Ludwig noticed.

"Feliciano, calm down," he told him at once, frowning slightly in spite of his own slight tentativeness. "It von't—"

"But Ludwig, I'm _nervous_…. I don't think I want to do this anymore."

"Nonsense—ve've been practicing und practicing, und you're not going to back down now. You don't vant to, anyvays." Just by looking him sternly straight in the eyes, Ludwig was able to get him to stay still and stare back. "Vhat are you even nervous about?"

Feliciano gulped, momentarily frozen by those eyes fixed on him. "Well, that I'll mess everything up for everybody, or that I'll get hurt, or that I'll humiliate myself, or—"

"Vell, stop it," Ludwig broke in, his expression not so much stern now as it was a very fixed and deep gaze. "You von't end up doing zose tsings, und you'll be fine. Besides, it vould be veird if you veren't nervous for your first game, _ja_?"

"I—well, I guess…." Feliciano was honestly feeling his anxiety starting to dwindle, and his face returned to a slight smile. "You're not nervous?"

"Of course I am," he said at once, and he would have gone on if it wasn't apparent immediately afterwards that they were supposed to start walking out to the field to their positions. So hurriedly, and without thinking, he grasped both of Feliciano's hands in reassurance. "You'll be _fine_; ve're going to vin."

With a slight shake of their hands and a nod, they both finally followed Coach Vargas's whistle and went out to the field.

Also in those last few seconds, Mathias leaned down to the second row of seats, where his friends were, and grinned. "Yo Lukas, how about a good luck kiss before I go out there?"

Lukas returned his grin with narrowed eyes and a bored look. "I could give you a kiss with my fist—" But Mathias quickly leaned forward and planted a huge kiss on his lips anyway, then ran off with the others, laughing to himself, before Lukas could hit him.

No more than a minute later, when the referee finished saying the rules he was required to say, a whistle was blown again and the ball was thrown up in the air.

* * *

While finding a seat, Matthew had quickly caught sight of a very familiar head of short, mousy blonde hair, accompanied by large breasts about a foot downward. He stopped in his tracks only to realize that he didn't even know whether he should stop in his tracks or turn around or just keep walking in the same direction because anything might result in something bad.

In spite of his previous decision to just not make an effort in ever asking her out or anything, Matthew was battling with himself on whether or not he should sit down and try to talk to her. Because he _really_ wanted to. And she was right there. And she was sitting alone. Maybe she liked being alone? No, she was too happy of a person to like being alone—

Maybe he was over-thinking it, though. Besides, she probably wouldn't even notice that he was there. Yeah, that was it—if she noticed him, that was great, and if she didn't, then he had nothing to worry about!

Still, he felt incredibly awkward and kind of scared, and it took a lot of effort just to force himself to keep walking forward and then take a seat about three feet to her right. There was a small noise when he sat down, and it wasn't as though Yekaterina was blind, so Matthew was sure she must have been aware, and in that split second that he had sat down there—_Oh God, she knows you're there, so now you have to say something—just say something, anything, come on, just do it, dammit…. Oh God why didn't you think of anything before you sat down?—_

"…You're the last person I'd expect to see here," he ended up saying, smiling to cover up the automatic wish that he had stuck to saying nothing when she looked over at him. _Oh God panicking panicking panicking…._

But her slightly curious expression only lasted for a moment before she smiled friendily back at him and said, "My brother is on the team. You're in my Vorld Geography class, I am right? I'm sorry—I forget your name…."

Almost too awed over the fact that she was actually _talking_ to him and the beginning of the conversation was going smoothly (and that her awkwardly-spoken English was extremely cute), Matthew hesitated to speak at first. "I—yeah, and my name's Matthew," he managed to say without sounding too nervous. Or at least he hoped he didn't sound too nervous. "You're Yekaterina, right?"

Just after he said that, he started panicking on the inside again, hoping to God that that hadn't made it sound like he was paying more attention to her than he should have or that he was obsessed with her or something—especially since _Yekaterina_ was clearly more difficult to remember than _Matthew_….

Once again, though, she didn't seem to react to it negatively at all, but instead nodded in confirmation. "Mhm. I'm surprised you can actually pronounce it…."

"So I did pronounce it right?" Matthew was getting more confident by the second—especially as both of them laughed. "Um… is there a shorter version or nickname you prefer? Like… Irina? Or Katie?"

"Hm… I haven't actually thought about it before." Her adoptive siblings and two new friends—Elizaveta and Feliks—all called her Yekaterina, but she did suppose her name was kind of a mouthful. "But I am liking 'Katie.' That vorks." She gave him another smile and small nod, finding that they came even more easily than usual. Matthew was nothing like her friends or family, and he wasn't anything like any of the other boys who had approached her lately. He wasn't asking her to go on a date with him or hitting on her or staring at her chest.

"Okay." Matthew briefly got stuck staring at her smile before mentally shaking his head and frantically trying to think of something to say to carry on the conversation. "So… which one is your brother?" he said, looking over to where the team was.

"Oh—he is the tall vun vith hair like mine but darker," she told him, pointing him out. "His name's Ivan."

"Ah, he's in my Psychology class…. I didn't know he was your brother." And not only because they didn't look all that much alike, either. From what he'd seen and heard, Ivan was insane, along with that Natalya girl, who was apparently his adopted sister and was obsessed with him. That must have meant that Yekaterina was adopted as well, and so it was mostly surprising that someone as sweet and nice as her could be in the same family as those psychopaths. But he refrained from saying that.

"Ve're adopted," she told him, thinking that he might not know. And he was going to pretend that he hadn't, just to make things easier.

"Oh. Well… I'm here because of my brother, too—Alfred. We're twins, so he should be pretty noticeable."

Yekaterina looked down and didn't have to make any effort at all to see the boy with the huge cowlick, who was standing up and seemed to be talking rather loudly. She recognized him from her English class, and she'd known beforehand that he and Matthew must have been twins. "He vood be noticeable on his own, anyvay," she remarked, laughing a little. It seemed weird that two people so different could be twins.

Matthew laughed with her, silently agreeing with what she hadn't said.

* * *

"I _cannot_ believe zat ve lost. Zis is unawesome to ze millionth power…."

"'Ey, but now I 'ave a lot to tease Arthur about for ze next couple days…. And your brozzer _did_ make zat epic kick zat nearly saved zem."

Gilbert and Francis were riding home in Antonio's car, only recently having left the school parking lot—so there were a lot of other people still around. Many of whom were looking disappointed because of the first match being a loss.

"Since when do you even care about soccer enough to get this upset about it, though?" asked Antonio from the driver's seat, momentarily looking away from the road to his friend and raising an eyebrow.

Francis replied before Gilbert could, though. "Because 'e's obviously upset about sometsing else…. Didn't you see him looking over at Elizaveta ze 'ole time?" He smirked, and then even wider when he saw Gilbert's face.

"Huh? Did you two fight again?" said Antonio casually, as though it were no big deal.

And like _hell_ it was no big deal. "V-vhat are you guys talking about?" demanded Gilbert frantically, twisting around in his seat and looking between his two friends.

"Ze fact zat you clearly like Elizaveta, _duh_," said Francis, and Antonio added—

"And that you're really jealous of Roderich and we're guessing you wanted to sit with her at the game."

_W-what…?_ It was a couple more looks in-between them before Gilbert said anything. "Is… is it really zat obvious…?" He sunk back into his seat, letting his expression calm but remain in a frown.

"_Yes,_" they both said firmly at the same time, sharing a mutual look through the rear-view mirror and then smirking at him.

"You 'aven't exactly been 'iding it well, you know."

"I don't know if _she's_ noticed, but you're totally head-over-heels for her, bro." Antonio grinned to himself, and then remembered what he and Francis had talked about alone recently. "So, you'll want us to help you get her, right?"

Still trying to process the fact that his friends were perfectly aware of his weakness (as he called it, anyway) and that they were talking to him about it like it was nothing, Gilbert took a few seconds to respond. "You guys… vant to help?"

"Of course!" Francis leaned forward in his seat and smiled. "_Mon ami_, we will make it just like ze movies and devise a complicated yet flawless plan and get zat girl for you. We're all best friends here, _oui_?"

"Ah… zis is going to be great. You guys are awesome," said Gilbert, suddenly much happier and more hopeful, which his almost painful smile gave away.

"It's settled, then?" said Antonio, not looking away from the road. "We're doing this?"

"_Ja_!"

"_Oui_."

"Awesome. Let's just wait until I stop the car at Francis's house to do our Bad Touch Trio handshake-of-agreement, since my hands are kind of busy right now.

* * *

**Translations (I decided I should probably start doing these): **

**Bonne chance = Good luck (French)**

**Bog chert poberi =God dammit (Russian) (Non-phonetic typing: Бог черт побери)**

**I hope not too many of you get put off by all the pairings I'm including, since I'm sure it's not likely for many people to ship the same exact things as me. Anyway, I'll try to update soon, and I would love it if you reviewed in the meantime! :D**


	10. Not Quite Expected

**Once again, I'm sorry for the 2 weeks in between chapters, but in between the last update and now, I've updated my Medieval!FrUK fic, posted a really long FrUK oneshot, and converted a GerIta RP into an 8-chapter-long fic, which I also posted. So it's not like I've been doing nothing fanfiction-related.**

**Just as a warning, there's quite a bit of LietPol, PruHun, and FrUK in this chapter. Enjoy~**

* * *

Doug Winter tapped his fingers irritably on the steering wheel of his car as he drove. He had left the school that the second soccer match that week had been at about a half an hour ago, so they were almost home and currently driving through neighborhoods rather than major roads.

His brow furrowed and his lips pursed, he let out a sigh and finally turned around briefly to look at his three adopted children, who were all silent for the moment. Ivan was simply looking out the window with a faint smile on his face, Natalya was leaning into him and hugging one of his arms, and Yekaterina was looking around aimlessly in her apparent boredom.

"Look, Ivan," he started, trying to use the authoritative tone he would usually use with students—it was as close to parent-ish as he could get. "I don't know how soccer works in Russia, but I hope you realize that kicking people in the face isn't okay. Because you didn't seem very deterred by that red card, and…" He trailed off, not wanting to say out loud how Ivan was kind of a disturbing kid.

"But ve von," said Ivan innocently, genuinely unaware that there was more than that to it.

"And shouldn't you?" Natalya butted in, tightening her grip on her brother's arm.

"Hm?" Winter frowned again and glanced at her through the rear-view mirror.

Natalya narrowed her eyes and deepened the frown she already had. "_Shouldn't _you know how soccer is in Russia? You are Vorld Geography teacher, _da_? So you should be knowing these things." Her voice was as cold as her eyes, and she could tell that Winter was somewhat intimidated by her obvious lack of respect for him. She still didn't view him at all as a father figure, and nothing had made her like him anymore than she had the day he'd picked them up from the orphanage.

"Well—knowing the world doesn't mean I know all sorts of random trivia…," he argued, trying to keep his focus on the road even in his sudden frustration. "And besides, it's an expression. I'm sure the rules concerning violence in soccer are the same in Russia. The point is, Ivan… just, don't do it again," he finished in a huff. There had already been so much he had needed to give them talks about…. Except for Yekaterina. She never came home and told him she had to have detention or that it was suggested she go to the school counselor…. No, she was pretty good in terms of behavior.

Not that he ever considered the notion that he would take them back to Russia. Winter realized his limits, and he knew these kids were more than he'd expected them to be, but he would just have to learn how to accommodate them and all of their personality disorders. They had spent their entire life in an orphanage; they needed a home. And he'd always wanted kids of him own. So it was good for all of them, even if it didn't quite seem so just yet.

Ivan gave a small nod and kept smiling out the window, very proud of himself and the rest of the team for winning this one. Their first game being a loss had been frustrating and kind of sad for everyone—he remembered Arthur, that kid with the huge eyebrows, kicking a wall after the game had ended, and Mathias had literally lied down on the ground on his stomach with his face in the grass and just stayed like that for a few minutes. This match had been close as well, but they had still won.

Coach Roma had said something about taking them out for ice-cream in celebration, but then most of the team had agreed that it was a school night and a lot of people had homework they needed to do, and then of course there was the game they had tomorrow, which would be the last game of the week and thus the end of the start-of-game tournaments. Eating ice-cream the day before wouldn't have been the best idea.

That wasn't going to stop Ivan from getting the two-liter bottle of soda in the fridge at home and pouring it in a glass and then putting vodka in it, though. He wanted to celebrate, even if it had to be alone—he didn't even care if Natalya wanted to stay close to him in her own little celebration. He was just too happy to have done something as a team and succeeded.

When they got home, the three kids said nothing to Winter (who just sighed and went to the kitchen to make dinner) and went off to their own rooms. Natalya, to Ivan's surprise, even let go of him and didn't seem particularly reluctant to do so as she went to her room and closed the door. He felt a tiny pang of disappointment, as he really would have liked any company tonight, but he brushed it off and supposed she was in one of her weird moods. Natalya tended to switch from being very manic and clingy to being quiet and a completely different person sometimes… and he didn't know why.

Ivan flopped down on his bed and kicked off his shoes, staring up at the ceiling. He figured he should probably change out of his soccer clothes, but he was too lazy to at the moment. Instead, he just continued to stare and think vaguely about his friends. It had been nice, so far, having all these new friends…. But something somehow felt off.

Still, he kept his almost constant smile, and he rolled over a little to reach for his bag and take out his phone. Winter had gotten each of them phones during the summer, as most teenagers in America owned one and he hadn't wanted them to be the odd ones out. Ivan put one hand behind his head as he lay back down and scrolled through his contacts…. So far, he just had Toris, Eduard, and his sisters (Raivis didn't have a phone). He considered texting Toris to talk with him about the game, but before he could act on any such decision, there was a knock on his door.

He was suddenly apathetic as to who was on the other side, and he didn't hesitate at all to say, "Come in!"

Yekaterina opened the door and stepped into his room, not expecting to find Ivan lying on his bed. But she didn't think much of it, either.

"Hey, I vanted to ask you something," she said, holding onto the door with one hand and keeping it open for the moment being.

"_Da_?" Ivan pushed himself up to a sitting position and raised a curious eyebrow at her, at which she closed the door and went to sit on the edge of his bed.

"Vell… okay," she started nervously, not sure how to word this and suddenly forgetting what she'd planned out in her head—but then she just forced herself to keep talking. "You know that guy, Toris, who you made friends vith?"

Frowning slightly, Ivan just nodded, wondering what Yekaterina could have to say about him.

"Yes, vell, I vos vondering if you could, um… give him back. To his friend, Feliks. Who is also my friend. I just—I think—" She suddenly found herself getting almost close to tears—not because she was scared, but because she didn't want to hurt her little brother's feelings. He didn't look like he was getting upset just yet, but it was still hard for her to finish. "I think that's a little unfair—you don't haff to stop being friends vith Toris, but it vood be nice to let Feliks hang out vith him again."

And then she looked at him brightly for a few seconds, hopeful that he would at least do this for her, if not for anyone else. She knew Ivan was fond of her, after all….

"Um… _nyet_," said Ivan after a moment in which he only pretended to consider it, smiling with his answer. "You don't know whole story, Yekaterina—I _vun_ Toris fair and square. But it's fine Feliks didn't tell you…. I vos not thinking that he vood. But no, Toris is mine now, so I don't vant to give him back."

With that, Ivan just smiled at her politely, as though that were a perfectly normal answer and he was expecting her to take it normally. It didn't cross his mind that this might make her upset, or that she would even want to argue with him at all.

And she did, but she didn't say anything. Because she really _couldn't_ say anything. Yekaterina wouldn't have necessarily found it scary as she would have found it awkward to keep going and trying to convince Ivan to do what she asked—especially since she figured that would be impossible. Ivan's mind was rarely swayed by anything.

"Oh, okay," she said half-heartedly, a small, ironic laugh in her voice. "Never the minding, then."

It vaguely occurred to her that she might not have said that phrase correctly as she got up to leave, leaving Ivan to fall back onto his bed again after the door was closed.

When Yekaterina was back in her own room, she sighed and pulled out her phone at once, then scrolled down to Feliks's name and sent him the text: _Sorry, asking him nicely didn't work. I was going to try the thing with Natalya, but I'm not thinking she would take advice from me. Or that she would even need it._

* * *

In the middle of his conversation with Toris, Feliks felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and immediately fished it out to check the text without saying anything to the other—who was still talking until he realized what his friend was doing.

Upon reading the text, he frowned and pursed his lips, figuring, _I guess I didn't really expect that to work, anyway. Hmph._ And then he put the phone away without replying, as he didn't see the need to, and still without saying anything.

"Who was that?" Toris asked, finding it odd that Feliks would be completely silent about a text he'd gotten. Even if it was just the phone company sending him one of those automatic texts, he would have said so and complained about how annoying those things were.

Feliks looked up at him and worried for a second, as he couldn't let Toris know exactly what that text had been about—but he didn't see any point in lying completely. "Oh—it was just Yekaterina."

"Hm. Wait—isn't she… isn't she Natalya's sister?" said Toris abruptly and frantically, suddenly leaning forward on the floor and practically falling on his face as he held himself up by his hands and knees rather close to Feliks. He'd known that Feliks had made friends with the girls from his Fashion Design class, but he hadn't known that they were close enough to text.

"Uh… yeah—"

"Does she ever say anything about Natalya?—Do you know if Natalya ever says anything about me?"

He was suddenly very excited, feeling his heart pound just at the thought of her. She was the only good in his new life as Ivan's subordinate (he refused to call himself Ivan's _friend_), and he wanted so desperately just to hold a full conversation with her. And she was the first real crush Toris had ever had…. It was too bad she was one of those "hard-to-get" types. But he figured that meant a challenge, and life wasn't supposed to be easy, right?

"Um…" At a sudden loss for words, Feliks blinked and frowned again. That had been _completely_ counter-productive. They had gone from talking about the game (mixed along with the homework they were doing and helping each other with—well, Toris was helping Feliks, at least) to talking about Toris's mega-crush. And that was rather frustrating. "No, and… like, if she even did, it would probably be about how much she wants to stab you, dude," he ended up saying, sounding more serious than his demeanor usually let him be. "Didn't she actually pull a freaking _knife_ out on you once?"

"Pssh—yeah, but… she's just feisty, is all," Toris said, shrugging off the fact in Feliks's words. "I'm sure she's warmed up to me at least a little…." He sighed at the thought of her, starting to daydream—to Feliks's discontent, which he was unaware of. But then he had a thought—"Wouldn't it be great if I could get Natalya, and then you could get Yekaterina? And then we could go on double-dates!"

And—once again—people said _he_ was the stupid one…. Did Toris really not know? Did he really have _no_ idea? Harrumphing, Feliks turned and let himself fall back so that he was lying on his back on the carpet and propping his feet up on the edge of Toris's bed. He didn't talk for several seconds, as he felt like drifting off into is own little world, until he turned his head toward Toris and poked him in the stomach.

"Nah, I don't like her like that," he told him, trying to hide the sudden ache from not being able to tell him the whole truth. "Hey, can I stay the night?"

Well, that had been pretty out-of-the-blue. But Toris had grown to expect random things to come out of his friend over the years. And it snapped him out of his Natalya fantasies.

"Um… well, you only live next door, so it don't see the point—"

"Yeah, well, I don't feel like getting up. I can just like, go cross the balcony space in the morning." Looking Toris over a little, he could tell that he wasn't thinking about Natalya anymore. Mission accomplished.

"I… I guess, yeah," he agreed, pushing his hair out of his face and yawning. "I don't think my parents would care, either. They'd just think we had a long night with homework. Speaking of which—we should get back on that…."

Almost instantly, Toris switched into focused-mode and was looking over his English assignment intently and then writing stuff down. Meanwhile, Feliks hadn't started on anything, but had just rolled over to stare at his Algebra textbook. He frowned at a problem in silence for a minute, tapping the eraser of his pencil against the book, and then made a half-assed attempt to work out the answer on his paper. God, he really hated math.

"Hey, can you check this problem for me?" said Feliks, pushing the paper over to Toris and leaning his face against his hand.

"Yeah, just hold on," Toris sighed, a little exasperated from having checked every problem so far. At least he wasn't being asked to _do_ his friend's homework for him…. When he did check it, he had to, once again, explain where Feliks had gone wrong. "And you should stop doodling in the margins of your paper…," he added. "You're taking up space where you could be working out the problem…."

"Yeah, whatevs," said Feliks, rolling his eyes and smiling a little. "I have, like, plenty of room."

* * *

Friday's game was a bit more exciting than the first two, considering the experience they now had. A lot of the team members were generally exhausted from all the running and exercise—which, for most of them, was more exercise than they'd ever done in just that span of time in their whole life, especially now, as the match was drawing to an end with two and a half minutes left.

Not much could get past Berwald, as he really was an excellent goalie (not to mention he was freaking _huge_), but the occasional ball did because he wasn't quite as quick to defend the goal as he was to defend Tino's face. Perhaps if they should put him behind the net….

Except only Berwald himself was aware of his feelings for Tino (as far as he knew), and he wasn't going to admit them, so they were going to stick with the methods they had.

They were currently winning by two points, and the other school's team didn't exactly seem like the type that would make a good comeback in just a couple minutes (they weren't organized, and strategies didn't seem to flow well between the players), but they had taken a time-out for water and to discuss, just in case.

Up in the stands, it was about half and half between people who were just bored, as they figured there was really no point in continuing the game at this point, and people who were watching and waiting anxiously. A certain albino, however, was in neither of those categories, as he had finally decided to move away from his friends (at their goading) and approach Elizaveta, who was sitting alone.

"Hey—vhy isn't Roddy vis you?" was the first thing Gilbert said as he sat down next to her. He mentally smacked himself for having had to say _that_ at once, but really, his pride and inherent obnoxiousness wouldn't have let him say anything else.

Elizaveta turned her head to look at him, surprised that Gilbert had wanted to talk to her—both because they'd kind of been on edge around each other lately, and because the match was nearly over. But she supposed the company was nice, as Yekaterina was sitting with Matthew (to the great happiness of her fangirl-heart), and Feliks had decided not to come to this game as a tactic to make Toris jealous. She didn't quite think that one was going to work, but it was possible, so she allowed it.

"You going to keep calling him that?" she sighed, not even bothering to sound that angry this time—though she did fold her arms and frown.

Gilbert realized that trying to act as though he respected Liz's relationship with Roderich might be pretty helpful in getting her to be with him, but once again, his pride was in the way. He was willing to do anything to get her—except be nice in any way to that bastard.

"Yup," he said stubbornly, but not necessarily in a mean way.

Sighing again, Elizaveta just decided to let it go for now. She was tired of fighting with him about that, and she figured if it only got as bad as her friend calling her boyfriend that name (the name they _both_ used to call him, she reminded herself painfully), then she could deal with it.

"Well, he's not all that interested in soccer," she told him, only glancing at him for a second because the time-out had just ended, and the teams were back on the field. "So he doesn't come to games. Why aren't you with Francis and Antonio?"

He hadn't thought of that. _Verdammt…,_ he thought in panic, needing an excuse that didn't sound stupid and hating himself for not having come up with one beforehand.

"Uh… vell, I noticed you und tsought you looked lonely, so I figured I'd come sit vis you." Yeah, that was an awesome excuse. Such an _awesome_ excuse….

That sounded rather odd, coming from him…. But then she figured it was just annoying enough to fit him.

"Just because Roderich's not here doesn't mean I'm lonely," she told him, her nose slightly higher in the air now. "And it's kind of pointless because there's only about a minute left in the game now, but… thanks. I guess."

A thanks was good, right? _Right?_ Well, Gilbert, at least, saw it as a considerable amount of progress and suddenly had his ego inflate and threaten to burst inside him—but interrupting his thoughts was a sudden eruption of cheers and a punch to his upper arm—

Down on the field, his little brother's friend had just kicked the ball straight into the other team's goal, with only twenty seconds left. As he realized this, he immediately broke into woots and cheers and clapping along with Elizaveta (who was just about as fond of Feliciano as he was). And he then took a second to give a smug look to the other team's supporters on the other side of the field, who were glaring.

Any tension between Gilbert and Elizaveta was gone as the whistle blew and the game was officially over, at which he started to stand up but then was conflicted as to whether he wanted to stay with her or go down and congratulate Ludwig and Feliciano. Until, that is—

"Oh, I'm so proud of Feli!" Elizaveta said, practically in a squeal that Gilbert found kind of cute. "Come on, let's go hug him!" And then she grabbed his hand unwittingly and pulled him down the bleacher-steps with him, at which he took the chance to look over at Antonio and Francis and give them a huge grin and thumbs-up.

* * *

"You know, all the effort you put into getting that last kick wasn't really necessary," said Arthur, though even he couldn't help but smile proudly as he looked at Feliciano, just like the rest of the team was. Plenty of people from the stands had already come up to congratulate them before leaving, and the team was currently packing up their stuff and getting ready to leave theirselves.

"Yeah, well… I hadn't scored yet at all, so I wanted to take the chance!" Feliciano replied cheerfully, zipping up his bag and pulling the strap over his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Ludwig was sneaking a few seconds' look at his friend to smile slightly, pride burning in his chest. When the feeling got too strong, he looked away and took a long drink from the water bottle he was holding.

"Hey—again, great game, guys," Coach Vargas said over all of them, getting a few of their attentions. "Since it's a Friday, who wants to go out to eat to celebrate?"

There was a lot of enthusiasm at that, but no one matched Alfred's nearly ear-piercingly loud scream of "ME!"

"Woah, alright then," the coach laughed. "Just make sure it's okay with your parents first—"

"_Definitely_ okay with me," said Alfred's mom, who'd been standing by along with a lot of the other parents, at once. She flashed a smile at Roma (which he immediately was figured as flirtatious, especially since he knew the woman was single by her lack of a wedding ring) as she left, passing her son and giving him a small pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll appreciate the peace and quiet, eh?" she added in a mutter down to Matthew, who was walking beside her.

All of the other parents who were there agreed as well (to only one person's dismay: Toris's mom agreed before he could say anything himself, and he was too scared of Ivan to say out loud that he didn't want to come) and said goodbye to their kids before leaving. Arthur, however, had to text his mom to ask, and Mathias didn't bother texting his parents because he didn't think they would care.

Roma turned to see Baldric leaning against the end of the bleachers, folding his arms and not coming forth to say anything on Ludwig's behalf. He supposed the man preferred not to speak if it was to him, and instead he expected his grandson to come to him and ask. Which was a little strange, considering he was a school principal and therefore should have been able to set aside his stubbornness from a grudge…. But then again, that was pretty much the same old Baldric.

It didn't seem that Ludwig was about to do that, though, as he glanced over to the boy talking with his own grandson. Sighing inwardly, Roma looked back over to Baldric and didn't look away at once. Alright, he could be mature about this…. He wasn't just going to completely avoid the man.

Forcing his resolve away for the moment, he stared long enough to catch Baldric's eye (which wasn't long at all) and then raised his eyebrow in a questioning look. It was the closest he was willing to get to conversing civilly with him just yet.

Ludwig's grandfather seemed to glare at him for a second before briefly closing his eyes and giving a small nod. Roma almost had to keep himself from smirking at how calm of a person he still was. His respect for him might have re-grown a little, too.

Once Arthur confirmed he could go (he hadn't gotten a reply from his mother yet, but he figured he was going to eventually and if not, then he was just willing to face the consequences when he got home), there were several more fist-pumps to the air, and a lot of them started toward the gate before Roma could even say,

"Great—everyone in my van!"

"Heh, that's what she said," Alfred muttered to himself not-too-quietly as he made toward the coach's van.

"What?" Arthur snapped his head over to him and frowned deeply at him. "That doesn't even fit there, idiot."

"Well, it sounded sexual, so…."

"Come on, don't make immature jokes likes that if you can't even make them _right_," Arthur huffed. "There's a strategy to it, you know."

"Oh yeah? Well, _explain_ this strategy then, Artie," Alfred laughed.

While Arthur was getting all technical and frustrated in his one-sided argument, Mathias was a ways away sniggering to himself about the same thing and how wrong it sounded. His mood was considerably lifted from what it had been about ten minutes earlier, when he had been denied victory sex by Lukas. Next to him, Berwald was still happy (though he didn't show it) that Tino had hugged him straight after the game, and Mathias knew it. It kind of annoyed him.

* * *

The local pizza place soon had eleven new customers, and the people who were already eating there didn't seem too pleased to have a whole bunch of rowdy boys suddenly there. But Kiku was the only one who really had any sympathy for them.

Before they had all even finished ordering, Feliciano had already flirted with the woman at the counter—at which Ludwig felt a pang his chest and was suddenly irrationally angry, but he had to force himself not to just pull his friend away from the counter by the shirt while they were in public. (Roma, however, was visibly proud of his grandson for being such a good flirt.)

When they sat down, it was apparent that, even as a team, they still weren't quite close enough to all sit at one long booth. Feliciano and Ludwig sat together, joined by Kiku and Heracles, and then Alfred and Arthur took a table for two directly next to Ivan and Toris (the former of which decided to scoot their table closer to them). Berwald was happy with sitting alone, but Mathias _really_ didn't want to sit alone, so he figured the one person in his friend group (however much he disliked him) would do.

Coach Vargas sat alone on purpose, as it would have been weird for him to sit with a student he couldn't even say he knew personally—and his grandson had three friends sitting with him.

It was a relatively decent celebration, though.

Ludwig was deciding rather quickly that he was glad that Kiku had gotten a friend to spend time with on his own, as he knew he and Feliciano were probably a handful, but he couldn't quite say that he liked Heracles. As close to Kiku as he seemed, he was also visibly rather lazy. He proved to be able to hold rather intelligent conversations, though… almost like a philosopher. (That seemed to be the only thing Feliciano didn't like about him, since he couldn't keep up with them.)

Over at Arthur's and Alfred's table, they were arguing over whether Captain America or Iron Man was better.

"Um, well, _excuse you_, Iron Man's got two movies compared to Captain America's measly one…. And Tony Stark is a genius. Steve Rogers was just a weakling who got powers from a bottle."

"You're completely missing the point, dude!" said Alfred, practically pounding his fist on the table. "Steve has a huge heart, and he's totally selfless! The last time I checked, bro, Tony Stark doesn't care about anyone. There was even that scene, you know, with the 'proof that Tony Stark has a heart'—"

"Because he's misunderstood!" Arthur insisted for about the third time. "And he's _Robert-bloody-Downey Jr_. Which makes him Sherlock Holmes, so your argument is invalid."

"Oh, come on, Chris Evans—"

"Guys, you're both wrong. Thor is the best, because he's the freaking _God of Thunder_," Mathias broke in, leaning over and talking over Ivan's table.

The argument about Marvel superheroes continued for a few minutes before Roma put an end to it and told them all that Hawkeye was obviously the best, and that if they were going to argue they better read the original comics first.

Feliciano had had no idea his grandpa could be such a nerd.

Not too much later, Arthur realized that his mother still hadn't replied to his text, and he sighed to himself. He figured Coach Vargas would give them all rides home, but he suddenly felt a burst of pride that wouldn't allow him to do it. Besides, he didn't want to risk getting yelled at in front of all his teammates. So he decided to text Francis and ask if he could have his mom come pick him up, instead. He'd done that before, and he knew he could at least count on his frenemy to make sure he never got stranded anywhere—mostly because of an incident from when they were little kids in which Arthur had gotten lost in the woods and Francis had been terrified that he couldn't find him.

When Alfred finally announced that he was full (long after everyone else had finished), there was a mutual sigh of relief among everybody, and they looked to Coach Vargas for him to say that they were leaving.

As though on cue, that was also when Francis came through the door and immediately spotted Arthur among the rest of the soccer team.

"You wanted me to pick you—?"

"Impeccable timing, Watson," Arthur said out of habit, smirking slightly at his clever reference before standing up and taking a final drink of his Dr. Pepper. "See you all tomorrow," he addressed his team, grabbing his bag off the floor and giving them a sharp wave goodbye.

"What, did you not want to ride back wis zem?" asked Francis in a low voice as he walked with him back out of the pizza place.

"I wanted to leave as early as possible," he muttered. "A bit too late, though…."

"Hn." Francis laughed a little to himself and put an arm around Arthur's shoulders—because of the slight chill of the air, of course. "If you tsink your mom will be too angry, you can just stay ze night and wait out 'er 'angover tomorrow," he offered.

"I—yeah, I'll just do that." Arthur nodded a little and made a purposely feeble attempt to shrug Francis's arm off—it was just too comforting in his sudden fear of his mother. It was a Friday, which meant most of his brothers were probably out or staying with their friends, and it was his mother's night to drink. He didn't know about his father, but he could deal with that later.

Back in the shop, while everyone else was getting up and watching them leave, quite a few of them were confused as to why Arthur had gotten a different ride, and also as to how he was behaving like that with Francis—until they noticed the arm around his shoulders.

"Oh," Alfred said, his eyes widened slightly. He then smirked and laughed a little to himself, followed by realization-sniggers from Feliciano and Heracles too, and then Coach Roma standing up all the way and giving a firm,

"_Well then_."

* * *

**Heh, I hope you all enjoyed the Marvel references... And I feel kind of bad for making Gilbert totally hate Roderich in this, since I've been shipping PruAus more and more lately... but whatever.**

**And everyone on the soccer team totally ships FrUK. Because who wouldn't? ;D**

**Anyway, reviews are very much appreciated, and I'd like to know what you thought of the chapter! ^_^**


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